The Treasure Hunter's Lady Read online

  Yellow Knife relayed the words and White Elk nodded then said something else.

  “The men who seek out the stone in the Serpent's head want to brag and tell stories of their greatness. White Elk believes you will do the same. The white men came and brought disease to our lands. They tried to conquer us. We believe you will tell of our secret camp and send the soldiers to find us.”

  “Tell your chief that I didn't know your camp was here and I couldn't care less about it. We're all just tryin' to survive. I won't tell the army, won’t tell anyone, if that's what he's worried about. I'll give you my oath.”

  He waited, impatient as Yellow Knife conversed with the chief. White Elk’s eyes burned into him, almost as though he could see straight into Abel.

  “White Elk says he can see the truth in your eyes. But how will you kill the beast? The bones of those who have tried in the past rest at the bottom of the river.”

  Romy's hand slipped onto his thigh.

  “I don't know,” Abel admitted. “I guess I hope to shoot it.”

  There was some more talk and a lot of animated hand gestures before they gave Yellow Knife the floor again. His eyes glowed in the firelight.

  “That you have come this far gives White Elk a great interest in your burden, Abel Courte. Our people are descendants of the ancient tribe that raised Uktena from the water. Our chiefs used strong medicine to conceal us from the world and hide us from the white eyes and to hide Uktena from those he would harm. This world is not your world.”

  Which confirmed Abel's suspicions. “But how'd we end up here?”

  “The fang was found in your things. The Great Serpent calls what is his. It will always find a way back to him.” Yellow Knife's voice was grave. “Many years ago, one foolish brave sought Uktena's lair and the jewel in the Serpent's head. He found the Serpent slumbering. He could not remember that its heart lies in the seventh ring. Instead of piercing the life of Uktena, he drove his lance in the sixth ring. Uktena fought against the lance. He snapped at the brave so hard, his teeth cracked. Frightened, the brave snatched up the teeth for proof and ran.”

  A wave of bitterness washed over Abel. This was how his family had come by the fangs. One arrogant warrior's mistake.

  “When he arrived at the camp, his family had gone to join others on the Spirit Road. Mad with grief, he sold the fangs to white men.”

  The general air in the lodge was heavy. Abel's mind went back to the auction slip in Christensen's desk. A little research would have led straight back to the Serpent and the legends surrounding it.

  “You could find a way to slay Uktena, you could take the Diamond, but what good would it do to have it if your family dies?” Romy asked, her fingers tightening over his leg. “I'd almost rather Christensen did find it. Let him be the one to suffer. But he'll know all this and if he sends Papa after the snake, then the curse will fall on me.”

  Her face had gone pasty white. Abel covered her hand with his.

  “We know that he hasn't found it yet.”

  There didn't seem to be any good solution to their problem.

  “There must be a way to see him, to get him to surrender the Diamond without causing so much death. The ancient people who raised him didn't all die,” Romy reasoned. “You say there's magic protecting this encampment. There has to be some sort of chant or spell we can use to protect ourselves.”

  Yellow Knife stared at her and Abel knew the council didn't care much for a woman's input. He spoke with White Elk, who shook his head, the long white braids sliding on his shoulders.

  Five pairs of eyes gazed at them. Yellow Knife spoke with reluctance. “The council will not give away that kind of medicine. Not to white men.”

  Before he could clarify that there actually was an enchantment to protect them, Romy shot to her feet, indignation blazing from her eyes.

  “That's foolishness. Abel would never misuse your-your precious magic tricks. He's come so far, at great personal risk to find this snake that your ancient peoples raised to destroy the sun! If not for that ridiculousness and this warrior who failed to kill Uktena in the first place, poor Abel and his uncle wouldn't be dying. I'm sure your reasons are noble, but right now neither of us is interested in noble. We're going to kill this demon with or without your help!”

  “Romy,” Abel hissed, jerking at her skirt.

  There was absolute silence in the lodge.

  The Indians turned to one another, conversing rapidly, their voices growing more and more agitated, their gestures coming faster and sharper.

  “Oh, dear,” Romy whispered. “I always seem to turn the natives on their ears.”

  The racket in the lodge grew. Abel took Romy's hand and pulled her back down beside him. “It'll be all right. They may not kill us yet.” He forced a smile. “At least you know they don't want you for a wife. Ain't no brave in this camp who would have you on account of that tongue of yours.”

  “You're forever telling me I'm not marriageable. Someday I'll show you, when I have a handsome groom at my elbow.” She jerked her hand away from him. “Besides, someone has to stand up for you. And it's true. We're not leaving until we have that Diamond in our hands.”

  Me. I want to be the one to stand at your side. The words almost fell from his lips, but he caught himself. She was a hundred times as fierce as the entire village. Stubborn and proud, the antithesis of the women he'd wooed and flirted with in Texas. But the only one who'd captured his attention long enough to make him consider marriage. To make him wonder how he'd go on without her.

  “What are you looking at?” she asked, staring down her nose at him. Her eyes darted toward the Indians, who'd fallen silent to watch their exchange.

  Abel cupped her face, drawing her attention back to him. He wanted to tell her, even in the middle of a conversation that might well be the death of them. He couldn't think of a more suitable time to lay it all out on the table. “The future. I'm looking at our future.”

  Her eyebrows rose so high they nearly touched her hairline. Her tongue passed across her lips. “But we haven't—we aren't—this is impossible.”

  “Darlin', we're hunting a serpent with a rock in its forehead because of a curse from the beginning of time. This attraction between us ain't the strangest thing to happen by a long shot. And if we get out of this, I'm telling your daddy that his little arrangement with Christensen and Woefield is off. Because I'm not goin' back to Texas without you.”

  She stared at him, apparently digesting his speech. Then she threw her arms around him, hugging his ribs so tight it was hard to breathe.

  “Well, then. You'd better figure out a way to get them to give us their magic so we can go to Texas.”

  Abel looked at the Indians over her shoulder. White Elk nodded in approval, a ghost of a smile on his leathery face. He didn't need Yellow Knife to translate their actions.

  “Oh, I suppose I should let go and we can finish conducting this council,” she muttered, raising her hands to pat at her braid as though she remembered their audience at last.

  White Elk spoke, his voice authoritative. One of the other Indians opened his mouth to interrupt, but White Elk hushed him with a glare. He directed his long dialogue at Abel and Romy. Yellow Knife waited a moment before he spoke.

  “White Elk is amused by the spirit of your warrior woman. Our chief is known for his fairness and good judgment in all matters. It is up to him to ensure the Serpent never escapes this world. White Elk’s word is our law and if he gives the old secrets to you, then you both must obey his command to bring the Serpent's power to us. It must never fall to evil men.”

  Romy's fingers wove through Abel's. He watched her face, the way her eyes widened in excitement. He'd never grow tired of seeing her face change.

  “At first light,” Yellow Knife continued, “White Elk will perform the ceremony needed to raise the old spirits who have the medicine to destroy the serpent Uktena. Under protest from the other elders of the tribe, but they must give in to his will. Thi
s power will allow you to see the Serpent and keep your family from harm as it was in the days before Uktena turned from man.”

  Romy turned worried eyes on Abel. He leaned forward, anxious to hear the rest.

  “If you betray our tribe, or use the medicine for ill, neither of you will find happiness nor travel the Spirit Road, but spend eternity wandering the earth in misery.”

  The finality of his words didn't leave any room for doubt. Abel looked straight at White Elk. “You have my promise.”

  Romy nodded. “Mine as well.”

  “The council has spoken.” Yellow Knife rose and nodded to his kinsmen. He was the first to leave the lodge, gesturing for Romy and Abel to follow. In the cool evening air, against a field of stars, he looked twice as formidable even without his weapons. “Hummingbird has prepared your bedding. Dawn will come on eagle's wings. I hope you are prepared for what is to come.”

  Abel rolled his shoulders, wondering what the dawn would really bring. “I don't know how prepared anyone could be to face down a giant serpent. Guess we'll see how it goes. This ritual your chief is performing, it's still good after all this time?”

  “It is old, but strong. The world is changing and our time has nearly passed. We have long pledged to protect the earth from Uktena. White Elk is weary of watching for threats from the Horned Serpent. There are few men he trusts with this knowledge. None in many years.” The brave turned his eyes to the sky. “Until morning, He Who Seeks.” He offered a brief smile to Romy. “Fire-hair Woman.”

  They waited for him to walk away and Abel put his arm around Romy's shoulders. “Seems we lucked into some help. What do you make of it?”

  “This all feels like a bad dream. Magical lands, waterfalls, Spirit Roads.” She shook her head. “I'm sure they have the best intentions, but I'm praying we don't find anything more than an old skeleton with a large jewel buried in its head.”

  What do I make of it? Your doom, son of man. I shall see you soon.

  Abel ignored the chill pressing on his spine. The voice was nothing more than wind and his overtired mind.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The three-quarter moon gleamed ghostly white against the predawn blue-black sky. Abel stared at it, trying to take his mind off what was to come. Romy hid a yawn behind her hand and looped her arm around his.

  She looked so young in the light of the blazing fire in the center of the village. Her hair was freshly plaited in two thick ropes that framed her face and she'd exchanged the brown skirt for a pair of soft buckskin breeches. Abel's own attire included a new red shirt and a pair of buckskins. He carried the fang in a small leather pouch at his side.

  The other faces gathered around the fire looked as serious as an audience in church. A drumbeat pounded the air, the same cadence as a heartbeat. Under that, Abel heard crickets chirping and the crackle of fire, but no voices and very little shuffling. There wasn't so much as a dog barking or a child crying. Edgy silence hung in the air. A band of warriors stood behind White Elk, weaponless and in various states of dress. There was no war paint this morning, just a mingling of men and women about to witness magic that hadn't been performed in hundreds of years—if the stories had any truth to them.

  Yellow Knife stood next to Abel so he could translate the chief's words. His dark eyes surveyed the faces of the tribe and the sky, as though he was waiting for something important to happen.

  White Elk took dried leaves from a leather pouch and approached the fire. He tossed them in and the drum died away. He spoke in song-like rhythm, his voice loud enough for the whole group to hear. He closed his eyes and turned his face toward the sky as words rolled from his mouth. The other natives raised their faces to the sky as well. A hushed murmur ran through the crowd. The hairs on Abel's neck rose. He glanced down at Romy.

  Her lower lip was between her teeth, eyes round as she took in the scene. He leaned down, putting his mouth next to her ear.

  “I don't think they're gonna require a redhead to finish the ceremony. You can stop worrying about that.”

  Her eyes met his and a look of petulance crossed her face. “Quiet. You'll disrupt the spirits.”

  He had to force back a smile. Later he would tease her about buying into hokum. If there was a later. The thought sobered him and he turned his eyes back to the fire. While White Elk sang, the flames seemed to climb higher and higher, lapping against the wood collected to feed it. Little sparks danced in the air, swirling like fiery snowflakes.

  “He sings to call the Great Spirit and the ancestors walking the Spirit Road. The ones who called the Horned Serpent to battle Mother Sun,” Yellow Knife whispered. He reverted to his native tongue, closing his eyes and lifting his arms shoulder high, palms up.

  Abel looked at Romy again. He wondered if they ought to be absorbing some ancestral advice or communing with the Great Spirit. Just as he was getting ready to close his eyes and pretend he understood what was happening, White Elk stopped singing and the crowd fell silent.

  The old chief came forward, his eyes on Abel. A tingle of fear grabbed him by the throat. Strange light glowed in the old man's eyes. He clutched a turtle shell decorated with painted symbols and mounted on a deer antler handle. When he shook it, it rattled. He spoke, his voice sharp and harsher than before.

  “The Great Spirit has turned his ear to the People. He speaks through White Elk and demands to know of the warrior Abel Courte, also known as He Who Seeks, what it is that he wants with the Horned Serpent?” Yellow Elk's voice sounded flat compared to the older man's.

  “To defeat it so that it will never harm another living creature.” Abel hoped he sounded braver than he felt.

  Yellow Elk gave the answer to his people. Some nodded and made grunts of approval. White Elk waited for the noise to die and spoke again.

  “The realm Uktena commands is not like any other place you know. It is a barren land, full of bad medicine. You are aware that to cross into this place and see the Serpent is to invite death into your lodge and all who live there?”

  “I'm not afraid of death.” He felt disconnected from his surroundings except for the fire that glared against the dark backdrop. The heat from it seemed to curl at his skin, charging him with energy.

  There was a long pause after Yellow Knife translated the words. The light in White Elk's eyes shimmered. The dark, disarming brown of his iris had turned bluish-white. Romy clutched Abel's arm, but remained quiet.

  “Many warriors have sought the Serpent's jewel for greatness. All have been devoured by greed. Do you give your oath that you will not use the Great Spirit's medicine for your own selfish purposes?”

  “You have my word,” Abel promised.

  “Come forward, He Who Seeks. Accept a token of goodwill from the Great Spirit and begin your journey to destroy the Horned Serpent. The demon called Uktena.”

  Romy's arm slipped from his as he took two big steps toward the chief. Behind White Elk, the fire roared like a hungry beast.

  White Elk's gaze was on the rattle in his grasp. “This is a mighty weapon, used by Chief Ten Horses and his council, the elders who raised Uktena from his bed of earth and water.”

  For the first time in days, Abel felt hopeful. A weapon was exactly what he needed to defeat the Serpent. The situation was looking better by the second, even if it was unusual. Maybe a rattle could be used to lull the Serpent asleep. He could approach and stab it with a war lance, then remove the Diamond.

  White Elk continued. Yellow Knife filled the silence spaces throughout the speech. “Uktena's heart beats with jealousy so long as Mother Sun rises and sets. Terrible things happened when Uktena rose from the earth. Things worse than famine and death. Those who set the Serpent free are doomed to guard it until someone returns Uktena to the ground. We cannot destroy him ourselves. Many warriors from many lands have come before you, only to be stricken with greed by the Diamond. He Who Seeks, by the power of the Great Spirit, you are now charged with undoing Ten Horses' wrong.”

  The turtl
e shell fell away without White Elk so much as touching it. The separate pieces landed on the ground, scattering a handful of fat shiny pebbles. The handle was left and at its end a stained flint knife lay looking harmless against his palm.

  A rush of disappointment flooded Abel's chest. These people couldn't expect him to use a tiny knife to kill a big snake.

  “The knife of Ten Horses calls for the blood of the Serpent who betrayed man. It also sings for a blood sacrifice to seal the bond between itself and a new warrior. Present your hand, He Who Seeks. Become friend to the knife and possess its hunger.”

  Still stunned, Abel offer his hand as the tribe watched intently. He didn't think the blunt blade would cut him. White Elk raised the knife and brought it across Abel's palm so fast Abel didn't see it. For a few seconds, he thought the rough edge had grazed him without so much as breaking the skin. Then a thin line of blood welled up from the joint of his pinkie to the base of his thumb.

  White Elk flicked the blade at the fire and the flames rose toward the sky, blood red. “It is done. You must leave for the Horned Serpent's canyon, before the beast can learn from the whispering wind that another warrior hunts it.”

  The chief shuddered and Yellow Knife rushed forward to take the old man by the arm as his knees gave away. In a voice as dusty as Texas during a heat wave, White Elk protested. His eyes, clear now, bore into Abel's.

  “Take the weapon, He Who Seeks.” Yellow Knife nodded at it. “Hummingbird has replenished your supplies and you must leave at once. There is no time to spare. It is nearly two sunrises to the gateway where the Serpent stays. Little Hawk will guide you, but he is not permitted to enter. His English is not good, but he knows the way.”

  Abel took the bone-handled knife and stared at the glistening edge, fresh with his blood. It trembled in his hand. Like the power of a steam engine or the quivering flesh of an anxious horse, it hummed with energy of its own. Bloodlust.

  “Abel,” Romy whispered. Her eyes were crinkled with worry at the corners.