Page 63 of The Spirit of the Wolf

“Yes,” she whispered, and then he was gone, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

Chapter

Thirteen

Marietta could hardly recall a time when she had been more frightened. Her stomach twisted painfully, and adrenaline pumped into her blood, awakening every nerve and muscle. Tales of horror, of torture and worse, flooded her mind, and she shuddered. Thank goodness Grey Coyote had been insistent about letting the pony go.

To think, if this had occurred yesterday, all might be lost. They had only set the animal free last night.

If she survived this, she would not question the man again. Well, she amended, she would not do so in matters concerning scouting and wandering over the plains.

Trying to dampen down her thoughts, she waited. And she waited, then she waited some more for Grey Coyote’s return. Where was he? Was he safe?

What would she do if he didn’t come back to her? She didn’t even want to consider the possibility.

Then she heard a rustling sound—was it the enemy? No, it was the low whisper of a voice, one she recognized. It was Grey Coyote, and he said, “I am here.”

Grey Coyote was scrambling into the buffalo robe, scooting and worming his way up to her.

Soon it was done, and he was level with her, his head slightly higher than hers. Without another word uttered, he pulled her into his arms.

At once, she was engulfed in the earthy aroma of dirt, sweat and masculinity. Never had anything smelled so acute, so good, and although the two of them weren’t safe by any means, Grey Coyote’s presence beside her did much to calm her.

She turned her face toward his so she could whisper in his ear. “What do we do from here?”

“No more talk,” he murmured. “If you must speak, place my hand over your lips, so I can feel them move. Try also to put all thought from your mind, for if you think too much, an alert scout can sense this.”

She nodded, but did so very slightly.

“We will wait here until they are gone. It could be as long as a day, or as short as a few minutes. But hopefully the war party will pass us by quickly and without notice.”

“Yes.” She settled down, trying to remain as still as possible, while she attempted to think of nothing. This last was not easy to do, she discovered.

Suddenly, she heard the enemy. They were riding. However, it wasn’t the sound of their horses she recognized. Not at first. No, it was their whooping and hollering.

There must have been twenty or thirty in their party, she estimated, and they were certainly noisy. What did this mean? Didn’t Indians usually cross the prairie more quietly?

Either they were very bold, she decided, or they were within their own territory, giving them a great degree of security. If this were the case and the enemy were in their own territory, then because she and Grey Coyote were heading south and west, if she remembered her geography correctly, this war party would most likely be either Lakota or Crow.

Interesting that she had arrived at such a deduction. Perhaps in the short time period she had been with Grey Coyote, his manner of thought was influencing her.

However, Grey Coyote appeared to need her attention, for he was very slowly inching his hand toward hers. Reaching for her palm, he took hold of her fingers, brought them directly to his lips, where she felt him say, for there was no sound, “Breathe without sound—blank your mind of all thought.”

She nodded slightly then strove to forget everything.

It was nearly impossible. Two of the war party had dismounted, had stepped right up to their bush. She could hear them speaking to each other, laughing. And what they did⁠—

Dear Lord. She heard the patter of something wet before she smelled it. The two warriors were clearly answering a call to nature—and unbeknownst to them, they were doing so right near Grey Coyote’s buffalo robe.

Grey Coyote placed his hand over her mouth, as though he sensed she was about to gasp, and he mouthed, “Make no move.”

Too frightened to do anything at all, she neither fidgeted nor spoke. Instead she eased into Grey Coyote’s embrace, and, closing her eyes, she attempted to blank out the immediate environment.

Then came a voice which Marietta had thought she would never hear again. It was a feminine sound, and it scolded and rebuked some unknown source. But though Marietta could little understand the words, she recognized exactly who the person was.

It was Yellow Swan, her former maid.

After slowly reaching out for Grey Coyote’s fingers, Marietta placed them over her own lips and mouthed, “I know the woman with this party. She is a friend of mine.”