Cheyenne Captive Read Free

Summer thought, although his face was weathered and his nose broken. She had no idea how old he might be, but he was certainly much more than Summer’s eighteen years.
    Thunder echoed in the distance, and a drop of cool rain fell on her bruised lips—then, another.
    Angry Wolf spoke in English this time, leering wickedly at her, and she knew he wanted her to hear. “This white squaw is worth nothing, my brother Dog Soldier, only a small plaything for men to enjoy!”
    “You, Iron Knife,” he gestured to the big man, “you and your cousins forget the Treaty and this worthless peace and share along with us! We will give you some of the loot we have taken from the stage and you, too, may lie on this woman’s silken belly. When at last we grow tired of her, we will cut her throat with a tiny slash, and watch her writhe as her life bubbles out into the dust! Then we will leave arrows and other things from our hated enemies, the Crow and the Pawnee so the soldiers will chase them!” He fingered the hilt of his knife. “It will be a good joke!”
    His fellows nodded approval, but Iron Knife shook his head and barked orders in Cheyenne. The others fell back, but not Angry Wolf. His enraged face showed he had no intention of giving up this tasty morsel before he had tasted it. He exclaimed angrily and pushed the half-breed with his open hand. The other pushed back. Summer clutched the shreds of her dress against the rain as she slowly stood up and watched the shoving turn into a full fight.
    They wrestled, grunting from the exertion as they went to the ground, and the others urged them on. Even the two sentinels came off their ponies to watch the fight. The struggle was as old as time and Summer tingled with excitement in spite of herself, knowing as females always do that this battle was for possession of her body.
    Whoever won would do as he wished with her, and she would have no say in the matter. There was something primitive unfolding before her, something that frightened her civilized soul, yet made her blood race.
    Furtively, she glanced around. The men were all intently watching the fight, ignoring her completely. The ponies strayed across the prairie, munching grass while their rawhide bridles dragged behind them. A red and white pinto caught her eye a few hundred feet to one side. If she could reach that pony, there was a forest on the other side of the rise that she might lose herself in.
    She took a slow step sideways, then another. As she moved, she waited for the braves to notice, but they were too intent on the struggle. The time was now!
    She whirled, jerked up her crinoline petticoats and fled in a dead run across the buffalo grass. She was going to make it! Her heart pounded in her dry throat as she ran, knowing from the sounds behind her that she had not yet been missed. She lost one of her tiny, expensive shoes as she ran, and burrs and stones tore her small feet, but she paid no heed and kept running. Her crinolines impeded her long legs, yet she ran on.
    Behind her, the sudden hue and cry told her she had been missed. Confusion and shots rang out, though she did not stop or look back. The startled pony jerked up, snorting. She wrapped her fingers in his mane and tried to mount. The pony reared in confusion, tossing her to the ground in a heap of torn petticoats.
    And then they surrounded her. The big Appaloosa thundered by, and a strong arm reached out and swept her from the ground. She found herself gasping for breath against the big, scarred chest of Iron Knife. He cradled her effortlessly in his arms while the snorting stallion pranced. The horse’s lunge threw her naked breasts against his buckskin shirt. She tried to recoil from the heat of his body, but he held her tightly.
    “Don’t fight me, Little One.” He spoke perfect English, smiling with white, even teeth. “Don’t you know Indian ponies mount from the right side? That’s why he threw you!”
    He looked deep into her eyes. “I have