Savage Courage
But his travels had never brought him to this part of the mountain before. He had never expected Mountain Jack to be daft enough to hide on the very mountain that was home to a proud Apache chief!
But perhaps Mountain Jack was more clever than anyone gave him credit for. Cleverness and cunning had to have played a role in his elusiveness.
Storm gazed at length at a thick aspen forest, and through a break in the trees he saw a canyon beyond, where the moon worked its light into every crevice: the shine of silken trees, moon-bent grass, and gray-blue cliffs.
Ho, yes, in all of Storm’s ventures, he had never seen this canyon, yet his exploring had never brought him so far from the pass in this direction.
The mountain was huge. It would take a lifetime to explore all of it.
Determined to discover what was in the canyon, forgetting the dangers of the night, of the panther that stalked the darkness, Storm sank his heels into the flanks of his horse and rode through the aspen forest and into the canyon.
He stopped to allow his eyes to scan the area. Nothing escaped his piercing glance.
He had to make sure this wasn’t a trap. He wasn’t ready to lose his scalp!
When he was sure no enemy lurked nearby, he rode onward. Before another minute had passed, he saw a cabin nestled in the canyon.
“This is a clever hideout,” he said to himself as he paused to again check for any sign of movement.
When there was none, he rode onward, but more cautiously now. He wasn’t sure whether the scalp hunter worked alone, or whether he had sentries guarding him. He didn’t even know if this was the scalp hunter’s lodge.
As the moon poured its silver light down onto the cabin, Storm saw that the logs were newly cut. No doubt the scalp hunter moved from place to place often in order to avoid capture.
Next Storm noticed a pen of gray wolves close to the cabin. The sight angered him, for no wolves should be penned up. They were meant to run free!
At that moment several of the wolves began to howl at the moon.
Dismounting, Storm tied his horse’s reins to a tree. After taking his rifle from its gunboot, he crept toward the cabin, his moccasined feet falling noiselessly on the ground like the velvet paws of a cat.
He circled around to a far side of the cabin. He stayed in the shadows and downwind from the wolves so that they would not be startled by his presence and make a commotion.
Now that he was so close, Storm realized that only one horse was reined at the hitching rail. One horse meant only one person was there.
His hand tight on his rifle, Storm crept slowly to a window. He looked through it. His heart skipped a beat when he saw who was in the cabin.
It was the ish-tia-nay he had seen traveling with Mountain Jack . . . the one he had seen through his spyglass! She was sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, unaware of his observation.
He turned his eyes left, then right, making sure that Mountain Jack was not in the room. Storm realized that the scalp hunter had left the woman alone.
Again he gazed at her. Even though her back was to him, he could see the same long, sleek, black hair that he had seen earlier.
He wondered why she sat with her head hung, as one who was despondent might hold it.
Was she sad? Or was she dozing?
Needing answers from this woman about why she was there and where the scalp hunter had gone, Storm crept around to the front of the cabin.
Again he was so noiseless that the wolves did not sense his approach.
When he reached the front door, which was ajar, he boldly opened it the rest of the way, then moved quietly to stand just inside the door.
Again he gazed at the woman. She was still unaware that he was there.
Then he noticed something else that made his heart skip a beat as she moved an arm. A chain was attached to it. She was a prisoner, not the evil man’s wife!
And up this close, he could tell for certain she could not be anything but a full-blood Indian. Yet she wore the clothes of a white woman.
Now that he saw she was being held captive, he supposed the scalp hunter had made her wear a white woman’s clothes instead of her own in order to keep her people from recognizing her at a distance.