Beyond The Horizon (10 page)

Just then someone screamed, followed by a commotion and general rush of people toward the wagons. Setting his long legs into motion, Blade pushed his way through the crowd, his heart leaping into his mouth when he saw Clive Bailey stagger from between two wagons.

“Injuns!” Clive gasped, falling to his knees.

That dreaded word sent the emigrants scrambling to their wagons in search of weapons. Blade quickly sized up the situation and took charge, dispatching men to the guardposts and barking orders to those remaining. Then he turned to Clive, his face a mask of fury.

“Was Shannon with you?”

“Didn’t she come back?” Clive asked groggily.

He swiped at the blood trickling from a minor head wound and considered himself lucky to be alive. Truth to tell, he hadn’t given a passing thought to Shannon. Moreover, he thought them safe from Indian attack because of his alliance with Mad Wolf. If he learned Mad Wolf was behind this, that scoundrel would pay more dearly than he expected for the contraband guns.

“Mad Wolf!” Blade spat, bombarding Clive with his terrible anger. “You bastard! You let Mad Wolf take Shannon! You know Mad Wolf wanted her—why did you take her beyond camp?”

“Shannon wanted to take a stroll,” Clive tried to explain, backing away from Blade’s implacable fury. “I was only obliging her. Besides, we don’t know Mad Wolf has Shannon.”

“Olson is dead!”

A foul oath leapt past Blade’s lips.

One of the men had just returned from a search of the area with the grim announcement of Olson’s death. The news sent the emigrants into a panic.

“What else did you find, Joe?” Blade asked, his voice low and strident.

“Nothing, all was quiet.”

“Any sign of renegades?”

“If they were here, they’re gone now,” Joe revealed importantly. “We did find an area of tramped-down grass. Could have been made by Indians.”

“Blade, I can’t find Shannon!” Callie was beside herself with worry. She had looked for Shannon but could find her nowhere. “Where can she be?”

Distress turned Blade’s black eyes bleak, his mouth a line of grim forboding. “I fear Mad Wolf has her.”

“Oh, God!” Callie sobbed, clutching at Blade’s arm. “What will he do to her?”

“We know he wants Shannon. The worst he can do is force her to become his—wife. My guess is that he won’t harm her,” Blade predicted, deliberately concealing his own fear. He knew Mad Wolf, knew what he was capable of. He also knew Shannon and her fiery temper and how easily she could rile Mad Wolf. He prayed he’d find her before it was too late.

“Oh, Blade, can’t you do something?” Callie wailed. She desperately needed to be reassured.

“Of course I’m going to do something,” Blade said tightly. “As soon as I speak to the men, I’m going after Shannon.”

“What about the wagon train?” Clive charged. “You were paid to take us to Fort Laramie.”

“You are close enough now to get yourselves to Fort Laramie,” Blade returned shortly. “Dock my pay if you want, but nothing or no one will prevent me from going after Shannon Branigan.” He turned to leave.

“Thank you, Blade,” Callie called after him. “I know you’ll find her.”

Mounted before Mad Wolf, Shannon had a difficult time staying awake. They rode continuously through the night, stopping for nothing. If Mad Wolfs bronze arm hadn’t held her on the horse’s back, Shannon was certain she would have fallen off. Would Blade organize a search party and come after her? she wondered. Would they be able to find her? They should have discovered her absence by now. Clive will have told them after he returned to camp. What did Mad Wolf intend for her?

It was mid-morning and Shannon dozed fitfully against Mad Woif’s chest despite the fact that she tried desperately to remain alert. With a jolt of awareness she realized she was no longer in motion. Mad Wolf had reined his pony to a halt and Shannon’s eyes jerked open to find dozens of Indians surrounding her. With a start, she realized that Mad Wolf had brought her to his village. Her spirits plummeted. How could she ever hope to be rescued from an entire village full of savages?

“Get down!” Mad Wolf snarled, shoving her from the pony’s back. Shannon dropped with a thud, then slowly picked herself up from the ground.

Those watching the spectacle showed little emotion as Mad Wolf grabbed her long hair, dragging her toward one of the tipis scattered about the clearing. They had gotten no farther than a brightly painted tipi when an elderly man stepped out, raising his hand in greeting. Though the old Indian’s face was deeply etched with fine lines, he wore his chief’s regalia with pride. Nor had age dimmed his eyes, which were alive and quickly intelligent.

Mad Wolf ground to a halt just as a woman emerged from the tipi behind the chief. Younger than the chief, she possessed a mature beauty that was ageless. Wings of gray at her temples relieved the midnight of her hair, and her eyes were softly dark with compassion. The chief addressed Mad Wolf in the Sioux language.

“We have not seen you in many moons, Mad Wolf.” For some reason the chief was not yet ready to acknowledge Shannon. “The young men of the village are greatly missed.”

Several of Mad Wolf’s band of renegades ducked their heads guiltily, aware that they should be spending their days hunting and providing for their families instead of raiding and killing.

“Someone must drive the White Eyes from our land, Yellow Dog,” Mad Wolf answered rudely. “The old ones had their chance, and now it is left to the young warriors to save the people. The time swiftly approaches for new leadership. None can dispute my ability. My prowess and courage makes me the logical choice.”

His bold words angered the lovely woman standing beside Yellow Dog. She would have lashed out if Yellow Dog hadn’t motioned her to silence.

“One day your pride will be your downfall, Mad Wolf,” Yellow Dog predicted. “I pray that when the time comes our people will chose a wise leader who realizes our future depends on our ability to live in peace with the white man. When my grandson returns, he will tell you what I say is true.”

“Swift Blade has betrayed his heritage. He lives by the white man’s laws. He fought in the white man’s war.” Mad Wolfs words dripped with venom.

“Don’t speak so of my son!”

Shannon watched in consternation as the lovely Indian woman stepped forward, no longer able to hold her tongue. Shannon wondered what Mad Wolf said to make her so angry.

“Do not let Mad Wolfs words anger you, Singing Rain,” Yellow Dog said, placing a restraining hand on her arm. “The young are hot-blooded and swift to accuse.”

Then Yellow Dog’s attention strayed to Shannon, who had astutely remained mute but watchful. She did not quail before the old chief’s scrutiny; her candid blue eyes regarded him with curiosity and awe.

“The woman is my prisoner,” Mad Wolf revealed, answering Yellow Dog’s silent question.

“Is that wise?” Yellow Dog asked. “Where does she come from? I fear your rash impulses will one day bring trouble to our village.”

“Little Firebird comes from one of the wagon trains invading our land,” Mad Wolf stated. His lips curled into a snarl when he thought how easily he had captured her.

“Does Little Firebird have a husband?” Singing Rain interjected, her soft heart going out to the unfortunate young woman.

“I will be Little Firebird’s husband.” Mad Wolf emphasized his words by pounding a fist against his broad chest. “Tonight she will cradle me between her white thighs and I will give her a son.”

Had Shannon understood his words she would have vented more than her anger on him.

Aware that he held little authority over the impetuous young warriors who thirsted for white man’s blood, Yellow Dog did not object when Mad Wolf began dragging Shannon away. But Shannon objected violently.

“No! What do you want with me?” She screeched at the top of her lungs, digging her heels in the dusty ground. “Don’t let him take me,” Shannon begged, aiming her words toward Singing Rain. There was no one else to appeal to except the lovely woman with sympathetic eyes.

A frown marred Singing Rain’s wide brow. She had no right to interfere with Mad Wolf, nor did Yellow Dog. Sioux law made Little Firebird Mad Wolfs property to do with as he pleased. Mad Wolf had every right to claim the captive and mate with her. Perhaps Little Firebird did not realize it was to her advantage to be Mad Wolfs wife rather than his slave. Boldly she stepped before Mad Wolf, risking his rage by stopping him in his tracks.

“Out of my way, Singing Rain.”

“I would speak with the girl,” Singing Rain demanded.

“Why?”

“She is frightened. Perhaps I can help.”

“Pah! You and your half-breed son are too sympathetic toward the white man whose soldiers massacre our woman and children, kill our buffalo, and trample our sacred grounds.”

“Little Firebird has done none of these things you speak of,” Singing Rain defended. She had no idea why she felt such empathy for this particular young woman, but something about her moved her deeply.

“Speak then,” Mad Wolf permitted grudgingly. He stood mutely aside, arms folded against his massive chest as Singing Rain approached Shannon.

Singing Rain’s interference sent Shannon’s hopes soaring and she lifted pleading eyes to the Indian woman. “Let me go back to my people,” she choked out, certain the woman understood. “My name is Shannon Branigan and I’m on my way to join my family in Idaho. I’ve done you no harm.”

“I am called Singing Rain.”

“Thank God you speak English. Can you help me?”

“I am powerless to help you return to your people,” Singing Rain said sadly. “I can only ease your mind about Mad Wolf’s intentions. If you obey Mad Wolf, you will not be harmed.”

Mad Wolf grunted his approval. Singing Rain interpreted it as permission to continue. “Mad Wolf is a mighty warrior. You and your children will be amply provided for.”

“Children! I—I don’t understand.” Deep in her heart she knew exactly what Mad Wolf wanted from her, but she had deliberately blanked it from her mind.

“Mad Wolf isn’t required to mate with you,” Singing Rain tried to impress upon Shannon. “He could use you himself or give you to the other men to use as they please. He does you honor by taking you to wife. You must accept your new life.”

“Never!” denied Shannon, her blue eyes wide with horror. “I won’t be a wife to a—a red savage!”

“Enough!” Mad Wolf barked. “I will tell Little Firebird all she needs to know.” Grasping her wrist he pulled her along behind him.

“Singing Rain! Don’t let him take me away!” Shannon beseeched.

“Quiet!” Mad Wolf admonished. Harsh disapproval made him unnecessarily rough as he jerked her forward.

Abruptly he halted before a tipi, threw open the flap, and flung Shannon inside. “What are you going to do?” she asked, looking around furtively for a way to escape.

“I will send Crow Woman to you,” Mad Wolf said, unable to disguise the flare of desire turning his body to granite hardness. Never had he wanted a woman as badly as he did Little Firebird. His nostrils flared and his mouth quivered with a need that no other woman could assuage.

“Who is Crow Woman?” Shannon demanded to know, “and why are you sending her to me?”

Mad Wolf’s lips curled in a curiously smug smile. “Crow Woman is my wife. You will obey her.”

“Your wife! Why do you want me if you already have a wife?”

“It is our way,” Mad Wolf said tersely. “Tonight you will mate with me and share the chores with Crow Woman.” Having said all he intended, Mad Wolf turned to leave.

“I won’t do it!” Shannon defied, eyes ablaze, her body tense. Mad Wolf merely smiled with chilling effect as he left the tipi.

Shannon rushed to the entrance, lifting the flap and peering out—only to find one of Mad Wolf’s followers stationed outside. Whirling, she calmed down long enough to examine the interior of the tipi, hoping to find another way of escape.

The tipi was surprisingly spacious. Four long poles held the buffalo hide in place with an adjustable flap at the top to either retain heat or provide ventilation. Wooden lodge pins held the skins in place and were easily removable so the tent could be folded for traveling. A firepit had been dug at its center for cooking; a tripod and buffalo-pouch cooking pot stood nearby. In addition to rolled buffalo-skin bedding, a backrest leaned against one of the poles. Several parfleches, used primarily for storage, hung from the walls, as did a medicine bag holding sacred items. A wooden bow and quiver with arrows also hung from the tent’s interior, but Shannon realized they’d be useless in her unskilled hands.

Shannon was about to search the parfleches when the tent flap was flung aside and a woman, somewhere near her own age, entered. She was possessed of a striking handsomeness, but she was not pretty in a strictly feminine sense. She was tall; her figure was good but not extraordinary. Her coal-black eyes blazed at Shannon with implacable fury.

“Who are you?” Shannon asked, backing away. The Indian woman was several inches taller and many pounds heavier than she. Shannon’s question was met with bared teeth and a snarl. “Are you Crow Woman?”

“Crow Woman speaks no English.” Mad Wolf had entered behind Crow Woman. “Do not anger her. She is here at my bidding.” Then he turned abruptly and left the tent.