Distant Heart (13 page)

After a week of rain and wind, the Cheyennes' trail had gone cold and Sam was getting farther and farther away from the wagon train. He wasn't sure where to go next, despite the fact that the two farmers looked to him for guidance and assurance at every turn. They reminded him of a couple of children with no idea where to go next.

“There's an old trading post about six miles from here,” he said pointing north and east. “I suppose we could give that a try. Trappers still come down from the mountains although there aren't very many left. The best I can suggest is that we make our way there and ask around. The Indians don't bother the trading posts too much because they do their own bargaining there. If Swooping Eagle and his warriors are still in the area, someone will likely have seen them.”

Tim nodded. “Let's go, then.” In his voice was a tension that bespoke an understanding that time was running out.

Everything within Sam wished he could offer hope, but he agreed with the man's unspoken assessment. Unless they
could gain information at the trading post, there was little chance those captives were going to be found.

It took the better part of a day to travel the six miles. Even though the rain had, mercifully, ceased, the horses had trouble keeping sure footing in the sludge and the going was almost as slow as travel by wagon. Sam could feel Brian and Tim getting more and more frustrated with the pace.

Thankfully, the shack stood before them, weather beaten and not that sturdy-looking, but the smoke puffing out from the chimney was a mercy, as Sam hadn't been altogether positive the place still existed. They dismounted and tethered their horses to the hitching post in front of the building.

Inside, the odor was strong enough to knock a man flat on the dirt floor. Between the hides, tobacco smoke, and just plain sweat and leather, the place could use some fresh air.

The grizzled mountain man who owned the place looked them over when they entered. He sized them up without speaking. His dirty buckskins reeked and Sam fought to keep from pinching his nose to keep out the stench.

A quick scan of the room revealed a one-legged old-timer perched on a pickle barrel, whittling on a hunk of wood. In a corner sat an Indian woman, probably younger than Fannie if Sam had a guess. She glanced up, looked him over without apparent interest, and then went back to her sewing.

Sam inclined his head toward the man. “Afternoon.”

The bushy-faced man gave his own nod. “What brings you men to these parts?”

Timothy started to step forward, but Sam held him back. If Swooping Eagle were a regular customer, the proprietor
wasn't about to give out information to three strangers without some profit.

“We're looking for a Cheyenne war chief. Swooping Eagle. Heard of him?” Sam could see by the twitch of the man's eye that he knew exactly who Sam was asking about. And if the fear in his eyes was an indication, it wasn't going to be an easy task to extract the information they desperately needed.

“I ain't in the business of looking to get myself scalped.”

Sam forced a short laugh. “I understand.” He glanced around. “I could use a buck knife like that one.”

“You can buy out the whole dadblamed store and it ain't gonna do you no good.”

Movement from the corner caught Sam's attention as the Indian girl stood. Sam noted her protruding belly as she walked to a back room.

The trader paid her no mind, but kept his gaze on the three of them. “Still want that buck knife?”

Brian tensed, and Sam knew he couldn't keep the young hothead back any longer. He didn't even bother to try. “Look, mister. That redskin took my sister, and I aim to get her back. You best start talkin'.”

“Well, men. I'm truly sorry for your trouble, but I got my own troubles to consider. Move on out and we can part company friendly-like.”

“Friendly?” Tim stood shoulder to shoulder with the other man. Together they made an imposing image. “That savage killed my wife and took my daughter, and I'll be hanged if I'm leaving here before you give us the information we came for.”

The man gave them a squinty-eyed stare and before he moved a muscle, Sam knew what was coming. In a flash the trader whipped out a shotgun from beneath the counter and pointed it straight at Tim's chest. “I ain't tellin' you again. I don't sell information that's gonna get me kilt. Get on outta here. If you come back you won't leave alive.”

Sam could see that both men were trying to weigh the possibility of overtaking the trader. They might have tried it, but the old-timer across the room pulled out a rifle of his own. “You fellas best do as my boy says. I ain't got as much patience as he does.”

One gun was bad enough. Two would get all three of them killed before they could go for their own side arms. “Let's go, men,” Sam said, clasping each man on the shoulder, he applied enough pressure to get their attention away from a fool's errand.

“Let's
go
.”

Finally, the two men seemed to grasp the gravity of the situation. They backed slowly toward the door and made it outside without a bullet through the heart. Sam mounted his horse with a prayer of thanks and led the way down a steep, rocky path.

The three men remained silent for the better part of a half hour until Tim broke the silence, his voice trembling with anger. “Now what?”

Sam wasn't sure. But one thing he felt certain about was that the trader knew where the Cheyenne war chief was holed up. But there was no way he'd be talking any time soon. “Swooping Eagle is somewhere close.”

“How do you figure?” Brian asked.

“The trader knows where he is, he wasn't surprised about the captives, which means he's likely heard the Indians talking about it, or possibly saw them for himself.”

“Why, that weasely varmint. He saw my sister and didn't lift a finger to help her?” Brian's anger flashed in his eyes and shook his hands as he gripped the reins. “I've half a mind to…” He whipped around. In a flash, Sam moved his horse to intercept.

“Don't be foolish. If you go back, you'll be killed before you even get off your horse.”

“What are we going to do, then?” The desperation in Tim's tone matched the same emotion playing across Brian's face. Sam's heart went out to the two men. Now wasn't the time to abandon them or suggest they give up. They would have to continue their search, even if their efforts proved futile.

Just as he was on the verge of suggesting they ride west, the sound of footfalls coming after them at a running pace met his ears. He placed his finger to his lips to silence the other men. Brian and Tim each drew their pistols. Sam held up his arm for them to wait just as the young Indian girl from the trading post came running into view, her face twisted in fear, chest heaving from the exertion. One hand rested on her belly. She ran forward and grabbed his horse's bridle and spoke in perfect English.

“Take me with you. I beg of you.”

“Get on back to your man, Squaw,” Tim growled.

Sam held up a silencing hand to the man. “Wait, Timothy. Let the woman speak.”

Dismounting, Sam removed his canteen from his saddle and offered it to her. Gratitude settled over her features and she reached for the canteen, drank deeply and handed it back to Sam. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “If you take me with you, I will show you the camp of Swooping Eagle.”

“She's lying.” Tim's hatred infected the very air.

Brian leaned forward. “Have you seen the captives?”

Her braids bounced as she nodded. “Two days ago. Cheyenne war party stopped at the trading post. They traded for whiskey and guns.”

Alarm filled Sam. “What did they trade?”

“Horses and pelts.” She averted her gaze, raising Sam's concern.

“Is that all?”

“Two children.”

“Was there a little red-headed girl?” Tim asked, panic swelling his tone.

“Swooping Eagle did not part with that child. She is to be a gift to his sister who lost a daughter last winter to illness.”

“Over my dead body!” Timothy growled. That's my little Janey.” He jumped from his saddle and grabbed onto the woman's arm before Sam could intervene. “Tell me where that Cheyenne camp is, or I'll do worse to your face than that man of yours ever did.”

Sam was about to step in, but Brian beat him to it. “Let her go,” he said. “It ain't her fault what that evil trader done.”

“What will he do with the children?”

Her face clouded. “When the Pawnee come to trade, he will sell them for protection.”

Sam heaved a sigh. “The children would be slaves.”

She nodded. “If they were taken by Cheyenne or Sioux, they would become part of the tribe. But not so with the Pawnee.”

“When will the Pawnee come to trade?”

“They come each new moon.”

Three days. Not much time. “How many days to reach the Cheyenne camp?”

“You will take me with you?”

“Tell us!” Tim growled stepping forward menacingly again. Sam intercepted him.

“If you threaten this woman once more, I will not allow you to ride with us any farther.”

Tim fell into angry silence and retreated to his horse.

Relief covered the young woman's features. “My name is Yellow Bird. I am Dakota Sioux. My father was deceived by Orlan, the trader. He promised to care for me. But he has only been cruel. H-he says he will trade my child to the Pawnee when it arrives. I must not stay with him any longer. Will you allow me to accompany you?”

“Why not simply return to your people?” Brian asked.

Her face clouded. “I cannot return in disgrace. My father is a great chief. My presence would shame him.”

Sam's heart went out to her and he made a swift decision. “You may come with us.”

“She better know where that camp is,” Tim muttered.

“You have my word.” Her quiet response seemed to soften
the man a little. He swallowed hard and inclined his head briefly.

“You may ride with me.” Sam climbed into his saddle and reached down for her.

“Miss,” Brian asked, inching his horse alongside Sam's pony. “Did you see a grown woman with the Indians? M-my sister was the only woman taken.”

Yellow Bird nodded. “She was with the Cheyenne.”

“Was she…” He cleared his throat. “H-how did she…?”

Yellow Bird pressed her hand on the man's arm. “Your sister was treated well. She was not violated.”

Brian's face crumpled and Sam thought he might fall from his horse, so great was his relief. “Oh, God. Thank you, thank you.”

“However, you must retrieve her quickly. She is a lovely young woman and will become the wife of a warrior soon. If you do not reach her first, it will be too late to trade for her.”

Instantly, Brian's demeanor changed and he steeled his features. “Then let's go.”

 

Toni couldn't help but keep her gaze focused on the horizon, searching for Sam's return. As the days went by, she became more and more convinced that given a little encouragement, he might come to realize that she could be a good wife, no matter her past. Then the guilt always followed. He had his convictions, didn't he? What kind of a woman would knowingly try to cause a man to go against the thing he truly felt was right?

Even when she came to grips with the fact that she would never belong to him, she felt his absence so great it hurt. His was an irreplaceable presence.

Grant Kelley had taken Sam's place as the head scout for the time being. Which, of course, angered Ginger, who felt she was the better tracker.

“It's because I'm a woman,” she pouted over a warm supper of rabbit stew.

“Blake says Grant's more experienced.”

She held her fork midway to her mouth and glared. “And you believe hogwash?”

Toni knew better than to say yes, so she took the coward's way out and shrugged. “I'm not an authority on tracking.”

“Well, I am. And believe me, that Grant Kelley is as green as a newborn babe. And I don't care who hears me say it.”

Toni could well imagine the young woman was telling the truth about not caring who heard her say anything. She'd proven herself to be a hothead and a big mouth, and most of the folks in the wagon train steered clear of her.

Truth be told, according to Fannie, the only reason Ginger was allowed to stay on the tracking team was because Grant intervened for her sake. Blake was all set to banish her to water detail after the last time she failed to recognize the signs of three deer before she spooked the animals and the wagon train was forced to forego fresh meat for the fifth night in a row. She'd definitely not been very popular, until she defied strict orders from Blake that no one was to leave the camp alone and went after the animals, tracked them down, and brought home a doe and a buck, thus redeeming
herself in the eyes of all. Even Blake, who growled at her for disobeying his orders, accepted Grant's request to keep the girl riding scout.

Toni had to wonder why Grant always seemed to take Ginger's side. He watched her closely, but not necessarily with the eyes of a man who was smitten. As a matter of fact, most of the time his brow was creased with a bewildered frown. Toni had always considered herself a fair judge of a man's intention, but Grant Kelley confused her. She wasn't sure where his thoughts led when he looked at Ginger.

The girl was vehemently against the very notion of Grant as a suitor, though Toni had no idea why. Personally, she thought the girl could use a strong man like Grant. But it was none of her business and definitely not worth risking Ginger's ire. So she'd stop bringing it up.

Ginger wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and gulped down the last of her coffee. “That was right good, Toni.”

“I'm glad you liked it.” The summer evening was a little warm for a fire, and many had decided to forego a personal campfire in favor of cold leftovers from the night before, but Toni knew Ginger couldn't abide cold food that was supposed to be warm or warm food that should be cold, so she'd decided to put up with the heat.