Beyond The Horizon (8 page)

Blade’s eyes narrowed into dark slits as the warriors surrounded them. His hands hung loosely at his sides, his body alert, wary but showing little outward emotion or alarm. To Shannon, Blade appeared thoughtful but watchful, and it struck her that he might have been expecting Indians to appear. Did it have anything to do with his searching the wagons? she wondered. Then all thought skidded to an abrupt halt as the Indians formed a circle around them and the leader nudged his horse forward.

Blade stood his ground. Shannon was amazed that he could appear so cool and emotionless at a time like this. Nothing in his expression gave Shannon a hint of his thoughts or what he intended. She would have been stunned had she been able to understand Blade’s words as he addressed the formidable warrior in the Sioux language.

“It has been a long time, Mad Wolf.”

Mad Wolf stared at Blade for several thoughtful minutes before a slow smile curved his lips, a smile that did not reach the black darkness of his eyes.

“Not nearly long enough, Swift Blade.” Recognition came slowly but surely to Mad Wolf. “We thought the white man’s ways claimed you long ago. Why do you return?”

“To see my mother and grandfather,” Blade answered. “I have never abandoned my mother’s people. Even while I fought in the war I knew I would return one day. What are you doing here? Are you making war on the white man?”

“White men kill our buffalo, they trample the prairie and despoil our hunting grounds,” Mad Wolf spat angrily. “They tell us we must stay on the reservations and starve while they steal our lands. The old ones might be satisfied to sit in front of their tipis and dream of bygone days, but the young warriors band together to drive away the whites.”

“You and the others face an impossible task,” Blade observed. “There are more white men than blades of grass on the prairie. They travel West in great numbers and you cannot stop that which is inevitable.”

“Perhaps not, but I will die trying,” Mad Wolf snarled. Fierce determination and hatred twisted his face into an ugly mask. “Soon, very soon,” he added slyly, “we will fight the white man with his own weapons.”

Blade’s interest sharpened at the mention of weapons. Were the guns he was tracing intended for Mad Wolf and his band of renegades?

“How will you get weapons? It is against the law to sell guns to Indians.” When it became obvious that Mad Wolf wasn’t going to respond, Blade prodded, “You haven’t answered my question. What are you doing so far from the village?”

“We go where we please,” Mad Wolf said after a pause. “Yellow Dog is old and dreams of peace, but we know that day will never come.”

“So you kill and raid indiscriminately,” Blade charged. His contemptuous gaze settled on the scalps decorating Mad Wolfs lance. “You make war on helpless women and children.”

“The soldiers take our women, use them, insult them, and then discard them. They kill our children and old people and destroy our villages. It is up to us, the young and strong, to defend our people. You have lived with the whites for many moons, ate their food, enjoyed their women. Have you also betrayed your mother’s people? Are you a spy for the soldiers?”

Blade started violently. Mad Wolf was closer to the truth than he knew. Unfortunately, Shannon chose that moment to bring attention to herself by tugging at Blade’s arm and asking, “What is it? What are you talking about?” She sensed the tension in Blade, felt the antagonism leap between the two men, and could hold her tongue no longer.

Mad Wolfs cold gaze slid to Shannon, raking her trim figure from head to toe, drawn hypnotically to the rich chestnut sheen of her hair. Noting the direction of Mad Wolfs gaze, Blade hissed, “Put on your bonnet!”

Shannon obeyed instantly, but it was too late. Mad Wolf’s face had already assumed an anticipatory gleam and his hard, dark eyes blazed with an inner glow that Blade correctly identified as lust.

“Who is this woman? If she is yours, I will buy her from you.” Mad Wolfs expression sent a chill down Shannon’s spine. “She will give me fine sons and daughters.”

“Little Firebird is not for sale.” The moment they met, Blade had given Shannon the rather colorful Indian name, but this was the first time he had dared speak it aloud.

Shannon was frighteningly aware that the fierce warrior was talking about her. She didn’t like the way his bold, black eyes impaled her. Unconsciously she stepped closer to Blade, seeking the protection of his comforting presence.

“What is he saying?”

“Mad Wolf wants to buy you.” Blade’s words were accompanied by a chuckle of amusement.

“Buy me? No one owns me!”

“I will give you ten ponies,” Mad Wolf offered magnanimously. By Indian standards it was a generous offer.

“Little Firebird is not for sale,” Blade repeated. This time there was no hint of amusement in his voice. “She is my woman and I intend to keep her.”

Mad Wolf merely grunted as he continued to devour Shannon with an avid gaze that set her teeth on edge. Blade broke the tense silence by asking, “Are we free to go? Yellow Dog still wields enough power to demand retribution from the man who harms his grandson.”

“Go back to the wagon train and the white man’s ways, Swift Blade. You ceased being Sioux long ago. Take Little Firebird with you, but don’t grow lax, for you haven’t heard the last from me. I have been following the wagon train for many suns.”

“You planned to attack the wagon train,” Blade accused him.

“Perhaps.” His words gave away nothing. “Then again, I might have been merely watching its progress.”

“Why would you do that?”

“I owe you no explanation, Swift Blade. Take your woman and go before I forget you are Yellow Dog’s grandson and Sioux blood flows through your veins.”

He sent Shannon a burning look, then wheeled his pony and galloped off, his war cry loud enough to raise the dead. His followers were close on his heels, except for one warrior who lagged behind to issue a warning. Blade recognized him immediately as Big Crow, one of the young men with whom he had been friends when he lived in his mother’s village.

“Beware of Mad Wolf, Swift Blade. He is determined and proud. He will find a way to get what he wants.” He glanced meaningfully at Shannon.

“Why do you follow him, Big Crow? I remember Mad Wolf well. He is ruled by anger and resentment. He is not the kind of leader young men like you should emulate.”

“I follow Mad Wolf because I believe as he does,” Big Crow revealed. “The whites will destroy us if we do not fight back.”

Without waiting for a reply, the young warrior raced off after Mad Wolf and his braves.

Shannon went limp with relief, sagging against Blade for support. “Will they come back?” Her voice shook and her legs trembled, as much from excitement as from terror.

“This is Sioux country.” Blade’s cryptic explanation did little to ease Shannon’s mind. “Come, I’ll help you mount. It’s time we returned to the wagon tram.”

“Did you know those Indians? It seemed as if…” Her sentence trailed off, almost afraid of what she would learn.

“They are from my village,” Blade admitted slowly. “Mad Wolf and I were never great friends. He was too arrogant and hot-headed for my liking. He indicated that he has left the village and is now leader of a band of renegades.”

“Will they attack the wagon train?” Shannon asked. She thought of the dozens of innocent women and children who would die in a raid.

“Perhaps, but I don’t think so,” Blade answered, hoisting Shannon into the saddle. “Something Mad Wolf said led me to believe he was merely observing our comings and goings.”

A question formed in Shannon’s mind but was never voiced as Blade leaped astride Warrior and set both mounts into motion with a slap of the reins. Whatever he wanted to discuss with Shannon was forgotten, pushed aside by more pressing matters.

News of the Indian sighting swept swiftly through the ranks of those traveling with the wagon train. Blade had called the men together shortly after he and Shannon returned and issued a warning. The fact that it had been a war party was taken seriously and immediate precautions were instigated to protect the emigrants should the Sioux reappear. Even the women were instructed in the art of loading and firing a gun and how best to protect themselves and their children. Blade warned against straggling behind and cautioned everyone to remain safely within the camp perimeter at night.

Of all those concerned, Clive Bailey remained strangely unaffected by the Indian sightings, openly scoffing at the danger and voicing his doubt concerning an attack. He appeared so unconcerned that Blade immediately became suspicious. He cursed his luck at being unable to search Clive Bailey’s wagon, for he truly believed he’d find much more than goods and supplies. Did Mad Wolf know Clive Bailey? Were Mad Wolf and his renegades actually protecting the wagon train from other raiders, aware of what it held?

The guards were doubled that night and the camp subdued. Shannon slept fitfully inside the wagon with Callie and the baby. A thunderstorm during the night drove Howie inside and Shannon relaxed somewhat, certain the Indians wouldn’t attack in so violent a storm.

Storms were common on the prairie in the spring and summer, providing brilliant displays of lightning and claps of thunder that shook the wagons. However, when no rain fell for days, as was often the case, they had to contend with alkali dust that lay as deep as six inches on trails, churned into gritty, blinding clouds by wagon wheels and animal hooves.

When Shannon awoke the next morning she learned that some of the cattle had been spooked by the storm and much of the day was spent rounding up the strays. Blade led a group of men out at dawn, and both Shannon and Callie were on hand to watch their departure, for Howie was one of those joining Blade. Rather than wait for the men, the wagon train rolled down the trail under the guidance of Clive Bailey, who assumed the role of wagon master in Blade’s absence.

The men still hadn’t returned with the cattle after the nooning, when the band of Sioux rode down from the hills without warning. They approached the wagons, signing that they wished to talk. The wagons rolled to a stop and a group of armed emigrants joined Clive where he waited for the leader to speak his piece. Shannon recognized Mad Wolf immediately and walked to the edge of the crowd so she might better hear what was being said. She was shocked when Mad Wolf spoke to Clive in halting but clearly understandable English.

“We are not here to do you harm,” Mad Wolf stated.

“I hope not,” Clive replied, “this wagon train has valuable cargo bound for Fort Laramie.” His gaze met Mad Wolf’s in mutual understanding. “What do you want? We have trade goods you might be interested in.”

Mad Wolf motioned to one of the warriors who immediately rode forward leading a string of ponies. “A trade is what I had in mind. I offer ten ponies for Little Firebird.”

“Little Firebird?” Clive repeated, mystified.

“Little Firebird will give me fine sons,” Mad Wolf said. Now Clive really was confused.

But Shannon knew exactly what Mad Wolf meant and started backing away. The movement alerted Mad Wolf, who raised his arm and pointed directly at Shannon. “The woman with fire in her hair is Little Firebird. I wish to buy her. Ten ponies is a generous offer.”

“No!” At the sound of her voice all eyes swung in Shannon’s direction. “It’s against the law to buy and sell human beings.”

“The Sioux make their own laws,” Mad Wolf proclaimed loudly.

“See here,” Clive blustered, stalling for time, “Miss Branigan is not for sale at any price.”

Mad Wolf looked unperturbed by Clive’s words. “I can wait,” he grunted. His words hinted at fierce determination and masculine arrogance. “Little Firebird belongs to me.”

“What are you doing here, Mad Wolf? I already told you Little Firebird belongs to me and is not for sale.”

While the emigrants were gathered around the Indians, Blade and the others rode in unnoticed. He approached Mad Wolf in time to hear his outrageous claim. Blade’s words were spoken in precise Sioux; his face was stiff and unrelenting.

“Perhaps Little Firebird will prefer me,” Mad Wolf hinted arrogantly.

“Shannon!” Blade barked in English. “Come here.”

All eyes focused on Shannon as she walked on rubbery legs to stand beside Blade. Though her insides churned and her chin trembled, her eyes did not waver from the fierce warrior challenging Blade. Only Blade’s staunch bulk and his hand on her shoulder lent her a measure of courage.

“Mad Wolf has offered ten ponies for you,” he said in careful English so that the renegade would not misunderstand.

Shannon’s nostrils flared and her eyes turned to pure blue flame. “I am not for sale.” The defiant tilt of her chin only increased Mad Wolf’s desire and his determination to have her.

“Among my people I am much admired,” he bragged, puffing out his chest importantly. “You and the children you give me will be well provided for.”

How dare he even suggest such an monstrous arrangement! Shannon raged silently. She was about to blast him with her Irish temper when Blade hissed in her ear, “Don’t insult him, Shannon, he is serious about this.”

Blade was quick to recognize Shannon’s anger and his warning gave Shannon pause. She cast a cautious glance at Mad Wolf, realizing much depended on her answer. The emigrants knew it too, for their fear was openly displayed for all to see. Most realized Shannon’s refusal meant instant reprisal. Even Mad Wolf’s companions seemed aware that the outcome of their visit depended solely on Shannon’s reply.