A Journey of the Heart Collection (24 page)

Children jabbered and women stared at her with hostile eyes as the warriors paraded through the camp, raising their bows and spears in triumphant shrieks. Sarah fought unconsciousness as she tried not to droop wearily against the young warrior's back. Her vision blurred and doubled as he stopped beside a teepee and slid to the ground.

He pulled her down, and she fought his grip on her arms. “Let go of me.”

He grunted, then thrust her inside the teepee and closed the flap, encasing her in darkness. She was too weary to do more than stumble to a soft pile of furs and sink into instant sleep.

When Sarah awoke she was in a dark, cool place. Strange chanting filled her head, and she heard the
rumbles of unfamiliar voices. But the words were all jumbled together, and nothing made any sense. She tried to rise and was surprised to find she could move her hands and feet. She had thought the Indians would tie her up so she couldn't escape in the night. The sounds outside were distant and not threatening, so she snuggled back down in the furs and fell asleep again.

The next time she awoke, she was not alone. A beautiful Indian girl knelt beside her and offered her a bowl of stew that smelled wonderful. She took it and ate eagerly. It was flavored with unfamiliar herbs, but the meat and vegetables were tasty. The young woman smiled, then quickly stepped outside and closed the flap on the teepee behind her.

Sarah's shoulder protested as she got to her feet. Swaying weakly, she started toward the flap, then staggered and sank back to the ground. She was just too tired to push herself any longer. She returned to the bearskin rug and stared at the opening to the teepee. What if Rand was really dead like Ben said? She pushed the thought away. He couldn't be dead. And he would find her.

She looked around curiously. She'd always wondered
what a teepee looked like inside, but she'd never been in one. Not even Morning Song's.

The teepee was large, at least ten feet in diameter. In the center was a tripod arrangement that supported a pot over what were now cold ashes, although a pile of buffalo chips lay heaped to the side. Spears and knives hung from the lodge poles, and buffalo robes were piled to one side. Pelts of various animals—dove, wolverine, raccoon, and antelope—were in various stages of tanning on a rack of some kind.

She dragged her gaze away from the lodge furnishings as the flap opened and the Indian warrior came in. A fierce scowl creased his young face, and Sarah's heart pounded in trepidation. It was the youth with the terrible scar on his cheek she'd seen before.

“He–hello,” she stammered. Then she smiled as she remembered the Sioux greeting Isaac had taught her.
“Wash ta cola.”

He merely grunted, his black eyes roaming over Sarah's tangled hair. He reached out and touched a bright red-gold lock.

She forced herself not to flinch. “Sarah.” She gestured at herself. “My name is Sarah.”

The warrior nodded, a smile winking across his face so quickly Sarah thought she'd imagined it.

The flap lifted again as the young Sioux maiden entered. She reminded Sarah of a young antelope, all long limbs yet curiously graceful. Sarah's heart clenched as she thought of Morning Song.

“You awake,” she said, her dark eyes liquid with a hidden smile.

“You speak English.” Sarah smiled in relief.

“Little. Little English. Live at mission one year.” The girl squatted and offered her another bowl of stew. “You eat.”

Sarah wasn't really hungry any longer, but since she intended to escape at the first opportunity, she needed to build up her strength as quickly as possible.

The boy grunted again and said something to the girl. “Little Wolverine say you belong to blue coat with eyes like eagle. Soldier not kill Little Wolverine in battle. Why?”

Sarah searched her memory, but she couldn't remember Rand mentioning an incident like he described. “I don't know,” she admitted reluctantly.

The girl translated to the young man and he fired a volley of words back at her. “He say blue coat with
eagle eyes spare Little Wolverine. Little Wolverine save you.” She pretended to weigh her hands until they were on an equal level.

“Yes. Even. Thank you.” Sarah looked into the dark eyes beside her and thanked God for sending such an unlikely rescuer. They weren't going to hurt her.

SEVEN

S
arah's strength grew daily on the good food White Dove brought. She gave Sarah a beautifully beaded Indian dress to replace her torn dress and braided her hair.

Sarah and the young maiden grew to be friends—she felt an almost uncanny sense of friendship and identification with her, as if she'd known her all her life—and by the third day Sarah felt at home in the busy Sioux camp. The children were curious about her and soon lost their shyness when she appeared.
White Dove was happy to translate their innumerable questions.

But Sarah grew more anxious daily. Where was Rand? Was there any truth to what Ben told her? Could Rand really be dead—or did he think she was dead? And Joel would be frantic. What would become of her little brother if Sarah never returned? She couldn't bear to think of him with Wade. Maybe Amelia and Jacob would raise him.

“Why you so sad?” White Dove asked as they fished in the stream just after dawn on the fourth day.

Sarah clambered out of the water and sat on a large rock, White Dove following close behind her. “I miss my friends and my little brother. You know the word
brother
?”

White Dove nodded. “I have small brother.” She held out her hand to her waist.

“And I worry about the bad man who tried to hurt me. He may be looking for me still.”

White Dove nodded slowly, her dark eyes compassionate. “Little Wolverine take you back soon. Then debt to blue coat is paid. And Little Wolverine say Sarah cry no more. He know man who hurt Sarah. He make sure he not hurt Sarah again.” She reached
over and touched Sarah's arm shyly. “White Dove miss Sarah.”

“I'll miss you too,” she said hoarsely. “Thank Little Wolverine for me. You are both good friends.”

Just a few days with the Sioux had shown her how alike they all were. Little Wolverine and the other Indians had no idea how many settlers were clamoring to take away the Indian hunting grounds. And Rand might actually have to fight Little Wolverine some day. She couldn't stand the thought of the bright young warrior lying dead on a field of battle.

She picked up her string of fish and followed White Dove back to camp. Why was life never simple?

Rand and his companions followed the trail as it led through rocky hills and sagebrush-choked gullies. When they ran low on rations, Rand and Isaac brought down an antelope and cut it into strips for jerky, smoking it overnight over a low fire. Rand alternated between worry for Sarah and concern for Jacob back at the cabin.

Four days from the fort, they awoke to a leaden
sky with a stiff, moisture-laden breeze whipping across the stark landscape. If it rained, the trail would be washed away. And they were so close. They hurriedly saddled up and rode out.

But their haste was useless. The storm struck with its usual force in the mountains. Hail rained down on them, and they were forced to take shelter under an overhang in the gully. Thunder boomed around them as torrents of rain fell and lightning crackled overhead.

“We've got to git to high ground!” Rooster shouted above the crashing thunder. “This here's a real gully washer. There's liable to be a flash flood any time.”

Staying as close to the rock wall as possible, they led their horses up the rocky hill. Halfway up the side of the slope, Rand looked down. A mountain of water swept away the tangle of sagebrush and aspen where they'd been only minutes before.

“This here's prob'ly high enough.” Rooster paused under an overhang.

They crouched there, hugging the cold side of the rocky wall. The horses shifted restlessly, but the men managed to hang on to the reins. Finally the downpour was over. Steamy mist shimmered in the heat as
the sun broke through the clouds, and they emerged from their sanctuary.

Rand gaped at the changed landscape. The flash flood had carved new gullies and filled in old low spots as the raging water carried away everything in its path. He stood surveying the damage as dismay swept over him. The trail to Sarah would never have survived such rain.

“Don't take on so, boy. We ain't done by a long shot.”

“What do you mean, Rooster? How will we ever find her now?”

“I've scouted these parts before. Over yonder peak is one of the Injuns' favorite camping grounds. We'll just mosey on over there, and maybe we'll find our little gal.”

Galvanized, Rand leaped astride his horse as Rooster led the way and Isaac brought up the rear. By nightfall they were in a line of trees overlooking an Indian campground. The teepees glowed with color from the sunset. They caught glimpses of dimly illuminated figures moving around the campfires.

“Now what?” Rand asked.

“Now we stay put till they're sleepin'.” The old Indian fighter took off his hat and smoothed his red
hair. “Then we sneak in and look around for our Miss Sarah.”

They tied their horses to a tree and hunkered down to wait. Rand kept watch while the other two tried to catch a little sleep. He was just about to wake Isaac for his turn at watch when he noticed a movement just below their lookout. He cocked his rifle and the other two were awake in an instant.

“What is it?” Isaac whispered.

“Don't know. Thought I saw something.” Rand searched the spot again, but he froze when he heard a sound on the slope above them. He swiveled his head and faced a row of fiercely painted Indians holding spears, all pointed at him and his friends.

They were obviously outnumbered, so when one of the Indians motioned for them to drop their guns, they obeyed. The Sioux bound their hands with brutal efficiency, then marched them down the slope to the camp. They thrust them roughly into a large teepee and fastened the flap firmly behind them.

Rand could see the outline of a guard through the buckskin. Some rescuers they were. Now they were all in the same uncomfortable spot with Sarah, if she was even here.

Rand squatted on a buffalo robe. “Why didn't they kill us outright?”

“They're probably saving us for some special ceremony,” Isaac said, sitting down on a buffalo robe. “We'd best get some sleep. They'll be on their guard tonight, but maybe tomorrow we can find a way to escape.”

Rand sat up just before dawn, too keyed up to lay down any longer. He listened to the sounds of the camp beginning to stir around him. He understood none of the guttural language outside as women lit fires and called to one another.

Diffused light gradually lifted the darkness inside their teepee as the bustle outside increased. Finally the flap lifted, and a young man stepped through, followed by an Indian girl. Rand immediately recognized him as the warrior he had spared in the battle the week before. And he was the one whose face he'd seen in his delirium.

Rooster recognized the boy too. “I told you you'd be sorry.”

But Rand felt no fear as he looked into the youth's calm, dark eyes.

The girl stepped forward and smiled at him. “Do
not fear. Little Wolverine your friend. But he ask, ‘Why you not shoot him?' ”

Rand hesitated. His reasons would probably sound silly, but there was no help for it. “Little Wolverine reminded me of my younger brother. You know the word
brother
?”

The girl nodded. “One who shares mother and father?”

Rand nodded. “I have a younger brother about the same age as Little Wolverine. I saw that same brave spirit in Little Wolverine.”

The girl smiled as she translated. The youth's black eyes never left Rand's face as she explained. Then he nodded and barked an order to the girl. She gave Rand a slight smile, then slipped out of the teepee. Moments later Sarah stepped through the flap behind the Indian girl.