Page 90 of The Spirit of the Wolf

“Aye,” said Laidlaw. “This is why I think yerself and a few other men should step in and be of service to the lady. Mayhap when done, the lady might remember who she be and the rules of privilege she was born to. Do ye think ye can refresh her memory?”

Adams nodded. “And what about the Indian?”

“Kill him, and hang him from the nearest post. An example must be set.”

“Aye, sir.”

With nothing more to say but a great deal to do, Adams turned and stepped away from Laidlaw, heading in the direction of the warehouse.

Chapter

Eighteen

Marietta was sitting up and awake, awaiting Grey Coyote, when four men burst into her room.

She screamed. Yellow Swan screamed. Marietta kept screaming.

Fiercely, two of the men gagged the women, effectively silencing them. One of the brutes threw a sheet over Marietta, wrapping her in it, then tying it with a belt. She kicked out at her assailant, but very quickly her feet were bound as well.

What was going on? This couldn’t be the work of Grey Coyote. He would never approve of such manhandling. Soon, however, the smell of tobacco and rum gave away the identity of the men.

They were white men. But this knowledge only confused her more. White men? Treating her as if she were a common criminal?

“Got her?” one of the men asked.

“Yep,” came the reply. “Got the Injun woman too.”

“Then c’mon. Let’s get ‘em to the mackinaw. Adams has it tied up and waiting on the river.”

“They’re goin’ by mackinaw?”

“Fastest, cheapest way. Better than a canoe.”

Marietta listened to the conversation. What was amazing, and perhaps telling, was that none of these men were disguising their voices. No low whispers. No attempt at secrecy.

The bourgeois knew, she realized, and he approved—likely he gave instruction for this act.

One of the men hoisted her up over his shoulder, the action interrupting her thoughts. He said to some unknown source, “Did’cha kill the Injun?”

“Nope,” came another voice. “Not yet. Couldna find him.”

Kill the Indian? Were they speaking of Grey Coyote?

“Well, find him, man,” said the one carrying her. “If ye dunna kill the savage, chances are he’ll come after these two women. Especially if he considers ‘em both his squaws. Don’t know ‘bout ye, but I dunna want to meet up with some warrior out to save his women. Don’t think any of our scalps would be safe.”

“Ye’ll be safe enough,” said another unknown voice. “Four against one?”

Would they? wondered Marietta. She wasn’t so certain.

Thank the Lord they couldn’t find him. In truth, they would probably never find him. Chances were he had sensed the presence of the men seeking him long before they had ever come close to him.

But what had happened? Why was this occurring? And why now?

As though in answer to her question, Grey Coyote’s words from earlier this evening came to mind, haunting her. “As it is, even dancing as we are, I fear we flaunt the customs of this place. He watches us even now.”

Quickly, Marietta pieced together what few facts she knew and realized Laidlaw had not liked what he’d seen this night. It was the only explanation which made sense. She had heard about the men who ran these trading posts and about how they considered themselves to be something like kings. She had simply not given the matter proper thought…unfortunately.

Without warning, the man who carried her threw her down none too gently. Furthermore, whatever she had landed on was hard, though it rocked.