Mountain Majesty 8 by John Killdeer

Author:John Killdeer [Killdeer, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mountain Men, David Robbins, American History, American Frontier
Publisher: Piccadilly
Published: 2022-03-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

SOMEONE HAD THROWN Second Son into a deep hole. She could see the top high above her, a pinpoint of light that did not seem to get any closer even though she climbed and climbed and climbed. From the dark walls enclosing her issued low, grating growls. She recognized them. She had heard them when the creature with the blazing eyes attacked Wolf Sings on the Mountain and her.

The beast was hiding in the dark, biding its time, waiting for the right moment to reach out and slash her to ribbons.

Second Son climbed faster. She moved her arms and legs in a frenzy. Yet it proved futile. The pinpoint of light grew no larger.

The growling, though, became louder. The creature was drawing closer and closer. She looked around and thought she saw its glittering orbs fixed on her, thought she saw pale fangs and hooked claws. In a final, desperate effort she threw herself at the light, but she was too far down. She could not reach it. Her body plummeted back into the hole, falling end over end, over and over, until, with a jarring impact that shattered every bone in her body, she struck bottom.

And suddenly Second Son was wide-awake, staring up into a lake-blue sky. It took a moment for her sluggish senses to come to grips with the fact that she was bound hand and foot and trussed to a long pole being carried by two sturdy warriors. The growling she believed she had heard was actually their muted conversation, and that of their companions.

My son! was Second Son’s next thought. She craned her neck to see in front and in back. Ahead limped the warrior she had kicked in the knee. Behind her were three more members of the band, one with a crudely bandaged shoulder, another with a bandaged chest who walked unsteadily, and a third man whose lips were split and puffy. In front of the last man shuffled Billy-Wolf, his head bent, his arms tied behind his back. As near as she could tell, he was unhurt except for prominent bruises.

“A Tsistsista warrior does not hang his head in the presence of his enemies,” Second Son declared.

Billy-Wolf glanced up and beamed for joy. He had thought that his mother was severely wounded. She had been so limp and pale for so long that he had feared she was close to dying. “Ma! You’re alive!”

“As are you,” Second Son stressed, “and where there is life, my son, there is always hope.”

At a bellow from the warrior in the lead, the procession halted. He stalked back and glared down at the warrior woman. A thick finger was jabbed into her face. He spoke gruffly, accenting his demand with a ringing slap to her face.

Second Son had been in agonizing pain from the moment she came around. Her head drummed to the beat of her pulse and it felt as if she had a lump the size of an eagle egg on the back of her head.

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