The Whippoorwill Trilogy - Sharon Sala Page 0,192

wagon bed, head first.

He landed with a thud.

Letty heard him curse. She leaned over the wagon and looked in.

“I’m sorry. Were you talking to me?” she asked.

Emory rolled over on his back and ran his fingers over his nose and chin. He was missing some hide, but it was a small price to pay for being out of that hole.

“No, ma’am,” he said. “And thanks for the help in getting in.”

“No problem,” Letty said, then felt Eulis’s hand was on her back.

“Don’t you think you’ve helped him enough?”

“I haven’t decided,” Letty said. “Where’s my rifle?”

“On the wagon seat,” Eulis said. “Need some help gettin’ up?”

“I can manage,” Letty said, and began climbing up into the wagon, only using one arm made it difficult.

“You sure you don’t need some help?” Eulis asked.

Letty turned around and glared. “If I do, I’ll ask for it.”

“Fine then,” Eulis said, and turned away just as Letty slipped. She landed butt first in the dirt and knocked the wind from her lungs.

Eulis sighed, then bent down and picked her up.

Letty batted at his hands, but was lacking the air to speak.

“Dang it, Leticia… can’t you just accept a little help without making a big fuss about it?”

He plopped her in the seat, then shoved at her leg.

“Scoot over,” he said. “I’m still driving.”

She took the rifle as she scooted, pointed the barrel so that it was straight in Emory’s face as she turned around.

“So, Emory James… I’m trusting you’re not the kind of man to try something when my back is turned.”

“No, ma’am,” Emory said, and scooted all the way back to the end of the wagon. “I’m just grateful… real grateful for your help.”

She nodded, then turned and stared straight ahead.

“We’re fine,” she said.

“Good to know,” Eulis said, and flipped the reins on Rosy and Blackie’s back.

He clucked his tongue sharply. The mules began to pull—the wheels rolled—and the journey resumed, bringing them just a little bit closer to Cherry Creek.

One More Mile To Go—One Last Soul To Save

Black Dog was dead.

Millie Sees Crow had made up her mind to do it after he’d slashed her face for the second time. When he’d found her with the trapper, he’d been furious. He had cut her hair, her cheek, and then cut off the end of her nose, claiming that he was going to make her too ugly for any other man to want. She still didn’t understand what had made him so angry, because he often sold her services to other men and kept the money for himself.

She’d killed Black Dog the night after he’d buried the trapper in the sand. She thought the trapper called himself James, but she wasn’t sure. White men had strange names that meant nothing to her. After she’d killed Black Dog, she’d thought about going back and digging up the trapper, but she’d decided against it. For now, she was glad to be on her own. Her cheek was sore and her nose very painful. She touched them lightly, satisfied that there was still enough of her medicine on the wounds to keep off flies.

Millie Sees Crow wasn’t, by nature, a vicious woman, but Black Dog should not have marked her face. She’d told him so as she was cutting off his manhood. He’d screamed at her, going mad from the pain until she’d slit his throat. After that, he’d been quiet. She’d strung his penis on a long piece of rawhide and tied it around her waist. Eventually, it would rot and fall off, which was fine with her. By then, she would have taken his power as her own.

She glanced toward the horizon, gauging the location of the sun to give her an idea of how much time before sunset. She’d never been this way before, but in the foothills of this vast mountain range were many small creeks and plenty of forage for her two horses.

When she was healed, she was going back to her people, the Comanche, which meant backtracking over a lot of territory. Even though her father had traded her to Black Dog for five horses and a dozen buffalo robes almost ten years ago, she thought he would welcome her home—especially after he saw what Black Dog had done to her. She had guns and knives and two horses. Maybe there would be a man among her people who would be willing to overlook her scars for the fine things she would bring to their lodge. She was still young enough to