Is-A-Man (A J.T. Edson Standalone Western) Page 9

  Bringing around the lance, the newcomer deflected the chop with a tomahawk being made at him by Chases Antelope. Then, slipping the shaft between his intended assailant’s legs at knee height, he moved quickly to the right without removing it. Doing so caused the Kiowa to trip, but he managed to retain his grip on the fighting axe. However, as the Tshaoh slid the weapon free, he was not allowed to render his latest victim hors de combat. Instead, he was compelled to sweep it around and make Long Wolf, coming into the attack holding a tomahawk, leap clear of its arc. The retreat was done so hurriedly and with such vigor that the leader of the party went several steps before being able to bring his movements under control.

  Once more, the newcomer was prevented from dealing a coup de grace!

  Seeing the third of the recruits from the main body had taken warning from the skill he was displaying and was making towards where a rifle lay on the ground, the Tshaoh wasted not a moment before following. Nevertheless, regardless of the speed with which he was moving, it seemed to the watching girl that he would arrive too late. He was still beyond thrusting distance when the brave was snatching up the firearm and starting to turn. Despite her concern, the newcomer proved to have a better grasp of the situation than she anticipated.

  Sliding his right hand to just below the steel head and the left to the center of the shaft while still striding forward, the Tshaoh lowered the butt to the ground at an angle in front of him. Then, he bounded into the air as if performing a pole vault. Using the lance as a pivot and support, he swung around on the shaft with his body almost horizontal to the ground. Flexing and straightening his legs in midair, he drove both feet into the shoulder of the warrior before the turn could be completed. The impact flung the man in a twirling reel and caused him to lose hold upon the firearm.

  Despite his successes, there was no respite for the Tshaoh. No sooner had he alighted from the leaping kick, than he had to take his right hand from the lance and knock aside the tomahawk flung at him by Chases Antelopes. While he was doing so, Long Wolf was rushing at him from behind and the man with the damaged mouth was returning to the fray from one side. By accident rather than deliberate intent, they were timing their respective approaches so there was no way he could deal with one before the other was upon him.

  Appreciating the extent of the danger which was threatening her rescuer, Becky was not the kind to stand passively by and let it happen. On the point of rushing forward to tackle the closest of the assailants, deriving some satisfaction from the thought that he had helped capture her and was leading the party, the throbbing ache in her side acquired on landing after having been tipped from the horse suggested there was something better than her bare hands available. Glancing at the cause of the pain, she decided it would be ideal for her purposes. About the size of the baseballs she had thrown with some success as a child and while a schoolteacher in Surbiton, Missouri, it was roughly the same shape although having ridges something like those on a turtle’s shell instead of being smooth.

  On snatching the object up, the girl discovered it was not a small boulder as she believed. Instead, she was holding what she guessed from memories of reading books on the subject of natural history must be a young armadillo which was rolled into a defensive ball. Being country-born and raised, she had no fear of even unfamiliar animals. Nor, while never cruel under normal conditions, did she let herself be deterred by the thought that her intended missile was a living creature and not the inanimate piece of rock she had envisaged. Swiftly ‘winding up’ as she had when pitching at baseball, she hurled the creature with all her strength. Not only was her aim good, there was an added bonus resulting from her having selected it.

  Finding itself suddenly lifted and flung through the air, the armadillo unwound its protectively coiled body. Going where it was meant to, it did more than just strike its objective. Finding itself suddenly coming into contact with something solid yet which yielded slightly, it immediately started to carry out another instinctive defensive measure. Like all its species, it had sturdy forepaws and long sharp front claws which gave it the ability to dig its way underground very rapidly and this it attempted to do. Just how effectively it was equipped for such a task was proven by the screech of pain which burst from Long Wolf as the skin of his face was ripped open from forehead almost to mouth level. Finding itself unable to burrow out of sight, on dropping to the ground, it scuttled away with a surprising speed for such an apparently ungainly creature.

  Blinded by involuntary tears and blood pouring into his eyes, which had not been touched by the claws, the leader of the Kiowas spun around to reel away with hands clasping at his ruined features. He was helpless to protect himself and paid the penalty. Letting out a shout, the Tshaoh plunged the head of the lance into his chest and gave a surging heave which swung him around. Although the motion dislodged him from the weapon, its shaft was grabbed by the other brave as he went blundering away dying on his feet.

  Granted an opportunity to do so, Chases Antelope had risen and retrieved his tomahawk. Yelling for the brave with the injured mouth to hang on to the lance, he hurried forward. To add to the newcomer’s problems, the brave who had received the leaping kick was returning to the fray.

  Glancing around while resisting the attempt to wrest the weapon from his hands, the Tshaoh ascertained the extent of the danger and acted upon his rapid summation!

  Realizing he could not liberate the lance by wrenching it from the grasp of the Kiowa quickly enough to serve his needs, the newcomer did not waste time and energy in trying. Instead, he released his hold and took a quick step to his rear. Before the brave could turn his other weapon on him, he snatched the bowie knife from its sheath with his right hand and brought it around in a rising arc. Taken completely unaware by the change in tactics, the Kiowa was unable to evade the blow. Raked across the throat by the razor sharp clip pointed blade of the big knife, he gave a strangled gurgling cry. The lance slipped from his grasp and he too went away from his assailant for a few staggering steps before collapsing with his life blood flooding from the severed arteries and veins of his neck.

  In spite of having removed another of his enemies, the Tshaoh was once more in dire straits. Not only was one attacker darting towards him armed with a tomahawk, the other surviving Kiowa would soon be able to retrieve and use the rifle. However, again the white girl came to his aid and provided the respite he desperately required.

  Concluding her rescuer would require further assistance, Becky did not hesitate to supply it. Not for the first time since she had had to flee for her life from Surbiton, she had cause to be grateful—on this day in particular—for her tomboy childhood. Memories of another sporting activity from those days, which had also served her well on occasion in the wrestling bouts, suggested how she might best render the necessary aid. In spite of still feeling the effects of the long hours spent hanging across the back of the horse, calling upon every reserve of strength and energy she could muster, she set about putting the idea into effect.

  Running to gather the necessary momentum, on converging with Chases Antelope, the girl launched herself bodily through the air to cover the remainder of the distance separating them. Because he was giving his full attention to the Tshaoh, whose deadly competence had caused him to forget how well she had fought against himself and his companions before they had been able to subdue and take her prisoner, her arrival was completely unexpected. Despite catching a glimpse of her body diving towards him, he was just too late with his realization that she was intervening. Given no time to think of avoiding her, the force of the kind of tackle she had learned as a child produced the result she was seeking.

  Not only was the Kiowa struck on the buttocks by the full weight of Becky’s solidly fleshed and curvaceous buxom body, which arrived with the considerable impulsion her running had built up, but her arms wrapped around his legs just above the knees. Jerking his legs together by the constriction she applied, she ruined his equilibrium and felt him going down. She might have de
rived satisfaction if she had noticed that the tomahawk flew from his grasp, regarding the loss as a bonus to her efforts, but things were happening too rapidly and she had other things to occupy her attention. Unable to halt her forward momentum, or unwind her arms quickly enough, she was compelled to accompany him. Landing before she was able to untangle herself, the impetus she had built up caused them to roll over.

  Finding himself once again granted a respite by the prompt action of the white girl, the Tshaoh was aware that he must make the most of the opportunity with which he was being presented. Although by training and inclination he would have preferred to continue the fighting with his lance, he realized this was not possible under the circumstances. Already bending to gather up the rifle, the other surviving Kiowa would be ready to fire before he could retrieve the weapon and cover the gap which separated them. Nor, he also concluded, would he be able to get there in time to deliver a blow with his knife.

  Still locked together, the impact of their arrival having failed to make them separate, the girl and the brave involuntarily exchanged the upper position twice as they rolled across the ground. Brought to the bottom just as the impulsion of the tackle came to an end, the girl found herself in a position which had occurred in childhood scuffles and more recent wrestling bouts. Having had his legs released as they were turning, he was able to thrust himself into a kneeling posture and straddle her torso as an aid to holding her supine beneath him.

  Under less demanding circumstances, Chases Antelope might have derived a sensual satisfaction and pleasure from the sight Becky was presenting. Left exposed by the damage her blouse had sustained earlier and framed between his thighs, her breasts rose in firm bare white mounds which he would normally have started fondling. At that moment, however, he had no desire to do so. Instead, realizing he was involved with somebody who was seriously hampering his freedom of movement at a time when it was vitally important he remained unhindered, he gave not a single thought to her physical attractions. Reacting as he would have done if in contention against a masculine adversary, he grabbed her by the throat and raised her head with the intention of crashing it against the ground.

  In spite of being well beyond striking distance, the Tshaoh knew he had the means to protect himself without the need to take the time required to get close enough. It was not a measure he would have cared to employ in different conditions, but he accepted he had no other choice. Pivoting on his left foot to supply added momentum and swinging around his right arm, he opened his hand the moment his well-trained instincts told him was most suitable to his needs. Released, the massive knife hissed through the air with its two and a quarter inch wide blade turned parallel to the ground over which it was passing almost too swiftly for the human eye to follow. However, its departure left him without a weapon of any kind in his grasp.

  Deducing from past experience what was intended by the man pressing upon her stomach with his buttocks, Becky was equally aware there was only one way in which she might counter it. Although she had instinctively grasped his wrists, she knew her attempts to pull away his hands would not save her. However, she did know something else which would help except that putting it into effect was a very different matter. Not only was she up against a heavier and stronger antagonist than any she had fought in the past, but the exertions to which she had been subjected throughout the day were taking their toll. Conscious that she was growing weaker by the second, she braced her neck and, striving to thrust upwards with her body, she contrived to lessen the force with which the back of her head was driven against the short turf beneath her. Nevertheless, the impact hurt and she knew its repetition would eventually render her hors de combat.

  Straightening with the rifle in his hands, the Kiowa saw the way in which the newcomer had elected to deal with the threat he posed. However, the realization that doing so had left the Tshaoh empty handed did not arouse any elation for him. As the girl was finding out not too far away, awareness of a possible advantage being presented was one thing, but dealing with the situation proved to be a vastly different proposition. Even as he tried to deflect the rapidly approaching missile with the weapon he had retrieved, it was too late.

  Thrown with skill and all the power of the wirily muscular body of the slender newcomer impelling it, the knife arrived as it was intended. Copied from a design perfected for Colonel James Bowie by the Arkansas master cutler, James Black, xiv the blade was made of finest steel produced in Sheffield, England. Although its present owner neither knew nor was even interested in its origins, being aware of how potent a weapon it was, he had always taken care to maintain it in excellent condition. Not for the first time since it had come into his possession, he had reason to consider the time and effort spent in doing so well worthwhile.

  Driving into the Kiowa’s body, the way in which the throw was made allowed the eleven inch long, two and a quarter inch wide blade to pass between the rib cage at the left side. Slicing onwards, the clip point was driven deeply enough to inflict a mortal wound. A shriek burst from him, but he neither fell nor released his rifle. Guessing he was dying, he was impelled by a desire to take revenge upon the man responsible. Snarling what were meant to be words expressing his hatred, but emerged as only incoherent sounds, he tried to bring the weapon to his shoulder. However, strong though the desire for vengeance might be, the terrible injury was weakening him too rapidly for him to achieve his purpose. Reeling on buckling legs, he crumpled without even having managed to draw back the hammer much less take aim and fire.

  Having made the throw, the Tshaoh did not wait to watch whatever result he might achieve. Instead, he lunged for the lance lying in front of him. Gathering it up, he swung his gaze around to ascertain what further action he must take. Discovering the white girl was in a difficult and dangerous situation, letting out a roar of rage, he immediately darted to her assistance. However, he was motivated by more than gratitude for her having intervened twice in his behalf. Seeing the bracelet worn by the Kiowa, he knew his mission was not yet accomplished and he intended to complete the quest for vengeance which had brought him to the clearing.

  On the point of slamming Becky’s head against the ground for a second time, Chases Antelope heard the fury-filled yell and looked around. Concluding the Tshaoh was a far greater danger than the girl he was straddling, he took his hands from her throat. However, his desire to rise hurriedly was impeded by her grasp on his wrists. Snarling an imprecation, he tried to set his arms free while thrusting to bring himself to his feet. Seeing what was happening, Becky did her best to impede him. While she was now too weakened to prevent him from rising, or retain her hold, she nevertheless provided a hindrance which was to prove fatal for him.

  Applying added vigor in his attempt to escape from the grasp which was putting a serious impediment to his freedom of movement, the Kiowa discovered to his cost that succeeding proved less than beneficial. On wrenching himself free, his wrists were released so suddenly that he was thrown off balance. Nor was he allowed to regain control of his motions. Lurching upwards more quickly than he had intended, he saw the blood smeared head of the lance sweeping towards him in an upwards swing. He made an ineffectual grab at the shaft, but had not touched it when the point took him in the stomach. Such was the power with which the blow was struck, the head of the lance sank onwards until it emerged at the rear. Lifted from his feet, he was thrown over backwards and landed supine. Writhing like a like a snake impaled on a thorn and screaming in torment, he was pinned to the ground alongside the girl he and his companions had hoped would provide them with enjoyment.

  Having instinctively started to sit up, Becky felt her senses reeling as she turned her gaze to her rescuer with the intention of thanking him. However, giving her not so much as a glance, he put a foot on the Kiowa’s chest and jerked out the lance. The sound made by the weapon as it emerged was the last straw for the girl. Giving a horrified gasp, first time in her life, she fainted.

  Flopping limply on to her back once more, th
e girl neither saw nor heard the victorious warrior as he bent over and, striking the stricken man on the cheek with his open left hand, completed a ritual highly thought of amongst his people by saying, ‘A’he!’

  Eight – Woman of Spirit

  ‘Look,’ the Tshaoh said in a language he and the girl he had rescued had found they had in common, xv albeit only to a limited degree, as they rode side by side over a rim. ‘My home!’

  Gazing in the direction indicated, Becky Ingraham felt a sinking sensation as she received confirmation of the suspicion which had been plaguing her for the past three days. Although there was an Indian village on the banks of a stream down below, she could see no sign of white people’s habitation anywhere in the vicinity.

  On recovering from her faint and looking about her, the girl had come close to repeating it. With a sensation of horror, she had discovered that her rescuer had been engaged in an activity which she had read was frequently performed by members of his race after a fight. All the six men who had been abducting her were dead, which had not come as any surprise. Nor, having had no doubt over what they had intended to do to her, had she felt remorse over their fate. What had shocked her was seeing that their long black hair was gone and the top of each head was red with blood caused by the forcible removal.

  Getting to her feet, struggling to control the nausea which threatened to engulf her, Becky had stumbled to the river and taken a drink. With her thirst quenched, she had felt somewhat better. Looking at her rescuer, she had found that the expression of rage was gone and he was far from being menacing or unprepossessing. Although he was gazing back at her and she had become conscious of the discrepancies of her attire, there was none of the lewd and lascivious scrutiny to which she had been subjected by her captors. What was more, although he had come over, it was to present her with a red satin blouse and green wrap-around skirt which she recognized as having belonged to ‘Lady Lavinia of Sheffield, England’. For a moment, she had been puzzled to account for him having the garments. Then she had realized he must have found them amongst the other loot taken from her dead friends by their murderers.