Bill Dugan_War Chiefs 04 Read Online Free Page B

the shore and headed upstream. The current was not strong, but it made the going strenuous. Keeping to deep water, she knew she was taking a risk, because if she were spotted, she would be helpless, an easy target. Still not sure who the invaders were, she kept sweeping the shoreline, hoping to catch a glimpse. The village seemed to retreat a little with every stroke, and she quickened her pace, fighting the pull of the river while trying to remain silent.
    She saw one of the shadows then, standing erect, a man, his head shaved clean. In the moonlight, it looked almost as if he had been cast from some dark, heavy metal, lead or iron. But there was no mistaking what he was—Osage. She thought of the Kiowa village the summer before, and her blood went cold.
    The dog had followed her, dancing along the shoreline as if she were playing some sort of game with it. Once, it ducked into the water, then bounced back out. Finally, it barked, short, sharp yaps, almost angry, as if to demand that she return to shore.
    She held her breath, hoping the dog would not call attention to her. It barked again, this time trailing off in a short yelp. She looked again, and the dog was dragging itself with its forepaws, its hindquarters hugging the ground. It whimpered once, and then went still. She had heard thesharp thud of the arrow this time as it pierced the dog’s slender body. Squinting in the moonlight, she could see the shaft jabbing at the sky. And the angle made her turn her head. She saw more shadows, maybe as many as a hundred, sprinting toward the river from the far side.
    She started to shout then, knowing that any further delay was pointless. Pulling toward the shore, she saw the first splashes as arrows landed all around her. She could hear the hum of bowstrings, like great unseen bugs among the willows, and more arrows rained into the river, one grazing an outstretched arm.
    The tipis seemed to echo her feeble cries, and she reached water shallow enough to stand. Once again, she shouted, and this time, one of the entrance flaps moved. She saw a face appear and shouted, “Osage, Osage, Osage!”
    The face disappeared, then reappeared, and she recognized Blue Bear, an old man who had been friendly with her father. Blue Bear’s voice joined hers in shouting the alarm. The Osage warriors, knowing that further stealth was pointless, began to yip and shriek, shadows exploding out of the grass all around the camp and darting toward the tipis.
    Comanche were spilling out into the night now, as the sky began to turn gray, as if the sun were in a hurry to see what all the rumpus was about. Stumbling out of the river, her feet slippery on the muddy bank and short grass, she tried to run toward her tipi.
    Sensing something to her right, she turned as a shadow hurtled toward her. Still shouting to raise the alarm, she turned, dodging the leaping Osage, but a heavy forearm slammed into her knees and took her legs out from under her. She had a knife in a sheath on her hip, and grabbed for it, feeling a thick leg fall across her own. Without looking, she jabbed once, then again with the knife, and felt the softness of flesh end abruptly as her knife struck bone. The Osage grunted, then a fist crashed into her stomach as she flailed with the blade again and again.
    Getting to her knees, she threw herself on top of him, and saw then that he was young, not even twenty. But there was no time and this was no place for pity, and she brought the knife down sharply, catching him in the chest just below the heart. She put all her weight into the blow, and felt the knife slide in between ribs. The Osage mumbled something, his voice surprised and almost gentle, then a burble escaped from his chest and she felt blood welling out around the hilt, smearing her fingers as she pulled the knife free.
    Getting to her feet, she looked back toward the river. The rest of the Osage were scrambling onto the bank now, and she knew that there were too many. She