Sweet Sarah Ross

For a human beast. Terror turned to shock, then dissolved into confusion, which meant at least her brain was working again, even if her feet weren’t. She blinked. Yes, it—no, he—was a human beast—a human being. It—he, it was definitely a he—was tall. The skin on his face and arms and broad shoulders was brown, as if accustomed to the sun. His skin was a bright burnt pink across his belly and down his—

At that moment she fully registered the fact that the man-beast was stark naked.

She shut her eyes and ducked her head behind the tree trunk. She strained to hear the sounds of the man-beast’s approach. Through the clamor filling the air behind her, she detected the splish-splash of feet leaving water. The soft clunk of rock tapping rock. A stick breaking hardly two feet away. Then…

The man-beast stopped running. He was so close to her that she could hear him panting and feel the radiating heat of his exertion. She caught the scent of a body pushed hard, but still strong and healthy. He splayed a palm against the tree next to the one behind which she was hidden, at such an angle that a sinewy forearm muscle appeared in high relief at her eye level. He leaned against the tree and hung his head so that the sunburned nape of his neck was visible to her.

She shrank back, wishing she was invisible. She could tell that the man-beast was winded. If she was going to get away, now was the time.

Her feet wouldn’t move.

Then she became aware of a sudden silence more frightening than the savage cries that had rent the air moments before. In retrospect she perceived that the war whoops had been answered with gunfire, but now the guns had nothing left to say. She felt more than saw that the man-beast cocked his head slightly and pricked his ears, as if he, too, perceived the meaning of the deafening silence. She held her breath and hoped she wouldn’t faint from the pounding in her chest and thunderous drumming in her ears. She clutched at the crossed ends of her shawl and hung on to them for dear life.

Her poor, overworked heart was subjected to yet another assault when the man-beast suddenly whirled. Before she could even squeak in fright, one of his hands came down to clamp her mouth while the other grasped her shoulder and wrenched her against his sweat-soaked body. She writhed but did not effect her release from his grip. Nose to nose with him, she was eyeing two blue pools swimming with madness or exhaustion.

His gaze came into focus. It roamed her face, circled her bonnet, returned to the hand held over her mouth. He bent toward her ear and croaked softly, “Don’t speak. Too dangerous.”

She could only stare at him.

To emphasize his point, he pressed the hand at her mouth. On the barest of breaths he demanded, “Promise.”

She nodded vigorously. He slowly withdrew his hand from her mouth but didn’t release the grip on her shoulder. He moved a half pace away and surveyed her top to toe. Fear and a proper upbringing prevented her from doing the same to him. His hand at her shoulder was squeezing hard enough to hurt her, but some ancient instinct warned her not to reveal any weakness.

The hand at her shoulder began to fall, dragging her shawl with it. He managed to say, “Let go.”

It dawned on her that the man-beast spoke a version of civilized English, and a ripple of relief coursed through her. This was followed by a veritable wave of relief when the significance of his request sank in. He wants my shawl to cover himself! It took a moment, however, for the command from her sluggish brain to reach the fingers wrapped so tightly around the shawl ends. Eventually her fingers uncramped, one by one, and she handed the large square cloth over to him. She felt better at the mere thought of the man-beast wearing some sort of clothing.

Upon accepting the cloth, the man-beast sat down on the ground, and the next thing she knew, he was tearing the delicate material in two. Her slight surge in good feeling turned swiftly to puzzlement, then yielded to indignation. Instead of covering that which no lady should see, he proceeded to bind his feet!

She didn’t know what to make of it. Nor could she observe him at length without causing herself great embarrassment So she turned her back to him and considered what to do next, now that he—the man-beast, her captor, whatever he might be—was preoccupied. She saw her opportunity to scramble up the slope and see what she could of the wagon train.

From behind her came quiet words that seemed to have rattled up and out a rusted pipe. “Don’t go…there…yet.”

She never took kindly to orders, and knew of no reason why she should obey one from a naked man-beast, but the tone of that statement was ominous enough to give her pause. She whispered back, “My father and mother are there.”

“Not time. Not yet.”

“My sisters, too.”

To that he said nothing, and his lack of response brought horrific visions to her mind’s eye. She stood immobile once again, this time from fear for her loved ones. Perhaps she still had reason to fear for herself, but her best assessment of her immediate circumstances said she didn’t. The man-beast hadn’t attempted to kill her for the shawl, and he obviously had no weapons concealed on his person. She knew that he was strong, but judging from the muffled grunts and groans coming from him as he worked on his feet, she guessed that his body was in great pain and that his strength was nearly spent.

At thoughts of the fate of her family, her vision blurred and her stomach churned. Go over the slope? Or stay here?

More words broke into her indecision. “If your family is…still there, you can do nothing…for them now,” he said. “If your family has…escaped, you are only…exposing yourself…to capture…by the Sioux. Might still be around. Probably are.”

The Sioux. She had a hazy recollection of hearing something about them in Independence. “The Sioux are hostile?”

His grunt confirmed the worst. He had apparently finished with his feet, but didn’t rise. Instead she heard him settle against the trunk of the tree behind her. She cast a curious, cautious glance over her shoulder and saw that he had positioned himself out of her line of sight. She could see only one corner of his shoulder and an arm bent at the elbow. The hand had disappeared and was no doubt resting against his invisible hip. She supposed she should be thankful for his delicacy, whether or not it had been intended.

He added with great weariness, as if to himself, “No sense killing yourself…unless you’ve a mind to die.”

She slid down the trunk and sat at the base of her tree. So. Here she was in a clump of trees in the middle of nowhere, not more than a foot away from a naked man-beast, and possibly surrounded by Sioux. Anger and outrage and helplessness overcame her. Seizing on the most immediate injustice, she began on a harsh whisper, “Why, sir, did you—”

The absurdity of calling him “sir” stopped her midsentence. She began again, this time very deliberately. “Why, sir, did you rip my shawl and bind your feet when the material could have been put to much better use?”

“My bloody feet,” he replied with labored breath, “are blazing…a trail.”

“For the Sioux to follow, you mean?”

“For prairie wolves, too. Can smell blood…and a festering wound…a mile away.”

Prairie wolves sounded worrisome, but she decided to take her worries one at a time. “If the Sioux are following you, why did they fall upon our peaceful wagon train?”

His reply came after a lengthy pause. “I’m guessing…they think…I found refuge…in your party.”

“It’s because of you, then, that our wagon train was attacked?”

“Pioneers travel…at their own risk.”

The callousness of that remark caused her to raise her voice above a whisper. “So if my family lies dead yonder, I’m not to blame you?” she snapped back.

“Some of your wagons…must have gotten away. The Sioux have not…been able to count me…among the dead.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re not looking…for me…here. Not yet Which means…they might be trailing…wagons that got away.”

It was a glimmer of hope for her family but not much more. “Why do they want you dead?”

“I was on their land. Took me prisoner. Got away. Were going to kill me any way…but now their desire…has doubled. Honor at stake.”

“How did you get away?”

“Old tribal dispute. Sioux warriors took off…like somebody set…breechclouts afire. Left me with the squaws.”

“That was lucky.”

The frail sound that came from his throat was a brittle ghost of a laugh. “Sioux squaws no bargain. Take to torturing with pleasure. Warriors rode off…with all the ponies in camp. I cut loose…started to run.”

“You ran? Just like that?”

He drew a deep breath, seemed to strangle on a dry cough. “The squaws came close to catching me…with my hands tied and all. My legs are longer. Knew what would happen…if they caught me.”

As intrigued as she was by the notion of Sioux squaw bloodlust, she didn’t think the sound of the war whoops she had heard had come from women, and she said as much.

“When warriors returned…they took after me, too. By that time…I had gotten my hands free…and was far enough off…to keep ahead of them.”

“You’ve been running all day?”