Page 72 of The Spirit of the Wolf

Grey Coyote at last crept up behind the guard, and there he paused for a time, watching the man, observing him to see if there might be a pattern in his defense. If one could be detected, the pattern would be the man’s weakness.

However, this sentry was alert, and Grey Coyote could find no flaws, except for one odd detail: not once in many moments had the man glanced at the woman he guarded. Indeed, it was almost as though he expected an attack from within the camp.

And maybe he did. Perhaps he had claimed the woman for his own, and this was his way of protecting what he had decided was his.

The woman was tied, hand and foot. She was also asleep, and the guard most likely assumed she would remain so. Grey Coyote did not make a sound as he cautiously crept up to the woman. She was not gagged, so he placed his hand over her mouth to muffle any intake of breath. But this woman was Indian, well-trained to expect the unexpected—as Indian women often were—and she did not cry out. However, her eyes flew wide open.

Grey Coyote touched her on the shoulder, then showing her his face, signaled to her that she was to remain quiet. Carefully, he shook his own hand once to show he was a friend. She inclined her head in understanding, but the movement was minute.

Carefully, so as not to disturb the air with the telltale evidence of his presence, Grey Coyote gestured toward her, telling her to keep still. Again she answered with the slight bending of her head.

Then came the lengthy process of untying the knots that bound her. Placing his knife in his mouth, Grey Coyote stole toward her feet. The ties were tight and would require much too long to undo. After taking knife in hand, he made one clean slice, and her feet were free.

He crept back up toward her hands. Another cut, and those bonds also dropped away.

She was now free, but in securing their flight, by necessity they would both have to be severely attentive. At present, the guard was keeping his vigil and had not looked this way, but any sudden movement would send his attention toward them.

With a slow gesture—his right hand moving down under his left—Grey Coyote gave the woman to understand she was to come with him, and that she was to hide. He had already selected the place for her, a small cave by the canyon’s edge. It was hidden from even a trained observer’s eye, obscured by no more than a profusion of common rabbit brush. She would hide while he returned to the camp to wage his own subtle battle with the enemy.

Carefully, as though they had all the time in the world, the woman rose to a crouch. Luckily, the guard’s attention had been drawn toward his comrades’ encampment, where a dance had commenced. Whooping and hollering, as well as a steady drum beat, split the air.

Good. This would do well to cover any mistakes the woman might make.

Yellow Swan followed Grey Coyote and slipped into the small cave easily. Using hand signals again, Grey Coyote gave her to understand he would return for her momentarily.

She nodded.

He set off. Warily, he crept back to where her captors had tied her. Noiselessly, he slipped both doll and one of the bows from across his shoulder. The doll he set on the ground and tied the woman’s former bonds to it. In the doll’s lap, he placed the bow. Leisurely, he smiled, taking a moment to admire his handiwork.

It was, indeed, a good joke. For when at last this was discovered, the owner of the bow would be blamed. At least it would be so at first. Shortly, however, many of the men would discover their own weapons were also gone.

Then, and only then, would these men know the shame of being too easily lulled by complacency.

Grey Coyote was beginning his backward exit from the camp when the guard happened to gaze at the place where the woman should have been. At first the ploy worked, and it looked as if the man saw nothing except what he wanted to see.

But then his eyes narrowed, and cautiously, he stepped toward the doll.

Grey Coyote froze, lowering himself to the ground. Gradually, one smooth motion after another, Grey Coyote backed away, precisely covering his tracks as he moved. No panic, he reminded himself. A calm mind would see him out of this camp alive.

Suddenly, the alarm was sounded. Grey Coyote’s ruse had been discovered.

The drumming ceased, the whooping stopped, although the night air still rang with the noise. Excited warriors, one by one, ran to the place where Yellow Swan had once been tied. Their combined voices contributed to the confusion. However, there was little to do except scold the one whose bow had been stolen. So they took out their frustration in the only way possible—on the doll, attacking it, pulling it apart.

A name was called—probably the name of the owner of the bow, and a few of the enemy hurriedly left to find the man responsible. But one warrior, a young lad—perhaps a scout in training—spared the doll but a glance.

Instead, his gaze roamed over the immediate area, searching for what the boy knew had to be close at hand—a scout. Alas, the lad unsheathed his knife and started toward Grey Coyote.

But Grey Coyote was prepared. He stopped all movement, letting his body become a part of the earth while he wrapped his fingers around a stone. Quickly, with as little motion as possible, he threw the rock in an opposite direction from where he lay.

Luckily, the lad was still a novice, and he fell for the trick, changing his direction.

Grey Coyote continued his exit slowly, methodically backing toward the cave where he had hidden Yellow Swan. At last, he stumbled back into the cave, and, for a moment, they were safe.

Outside of this cavern, the enemy camp was a riot of confusion, and Grey Coyote grew concerned. Would Marietta remain hidden, as she had promised? Or would she panic?

True, she had given him her word, and he was certain she would try to keep it. But sometimes unexpected events could startle one, and a person would react involuntarily. Such would be the response which could cost her...and him.

He decided he had best see to her at once.