Savage Autumn (8 page)

Windhawk sat around the council fire waiting for Running Elk to finish speaking.

“I say that we could take the white train with very little effort. I know that you have no more love for the white man than I do. Let us drive them from these lands. Let us show them that they are not welcome.”

Windhawk stood up and raised his hand. “Listen to me, my brothers. I have no more love for the white man than Running Elk does, but I will advise my braves not to raid the wagon train. I ask that you of the Piegans not commit this deed also. Where is the glory in raiding so small a train?”

Running Elk interrupted. “I think Windhawk is becoming soft. Did he not pick up the white woman’s bonnet today?
Perhaps he should have placed the bonnet on his head since he thinks as a woman,” he taunted.

Before Running Elk could react, Windhawk had unsheathed his knife and held it to the chief’s throat. “I could easily slay you, Running Elk, but I will not. I will say this: The Bloods will not raid the wagon train.”

Running Elk felt the point of the knife against his skin. He knew that Windhawk would not hesitate to drive the knife into his body. He felt relief when Windhawk released his hold on him and put his knife away.

“Let your warriors speak for themselves, Windhawk. If any one of you would stand with the Piegans in this matter, let him step forward.”

The camp became silent as everyone waited to see what Windhawk’s Bloods would do. Many of the Piegans did not like Running Elk, but he was their chief for now. One by one the Blood warriors walked over to stand beside Windhawk. Not a single one joined Running Elk.

“My warriors have given you their answer, Running Elk. Should you decide to raid the train, you would first have to meet me and my warriors.”

“You would go against your own people for the sake of the white woman?” Running Elk asked angrily.

“I would go against you, Running Elk.”

“I saw the way you looked at the white woman today. You want her for yourself,” Running Elk accused.

Running Elk stared into Windhawk’s eyes, and the fire in the piercing depths made him realize he had spoken foolishly. He watched Windhawk’s hand tighten on the hilt of his knife, and he knew that his death was near.

“Let us put our differences aside,” Running Elk said placatingly. He then quickly sat down cross-legged, picked up the peace pipe, and offered it to Windhawk. He knew that Windhawk and his Bloods would not allow him to attack the wagon train, but there would be other days, he thought, drawing on the peace pipe and exhaling the smoke slowly. Soon Windhawk
would return to the Blackfoot Nation, and then Running Elk would take the white girl.

The people of the small wagon train slept peacefully, not knowing that their lives had been spared by Windhawk’s intervention.

Crazy Farley watched the argument that had erupted between the two Indian chiefs. He had been alarmed that Running Elk might win, and he had been prepared to warn the people on the wagon train.

Farley’s eyes rested on the young Blood Blackfoot chief. Windhawk was indeed a great man, and Farley could see why the Bloods were so devoted to him.

The old trapper crept away into the shadows and crossed the river as silently as any Indian could have. There would be no danger to the families on the wagon train tonight, he thought. Windhawk had destroyed any plans Running Elk might have in that direction. Running Elk was not worthy to be the leader of the proud Piegan Blackfoot. Tonight he had been humbled by Windhawk. Even so, Farley didn’t trust Running Elk. He was as wily as a fox and would bear watching.

It was shortly past sunrise as Joanna sat on the wagon seat awaiting the orders to move out. Tag sat beside her, holding a book with bored indifference. Joanna had promised him if he would read a chapter to her now, he could forego his nightly lessons just this once.

Simon had ridden ahead with Captain Thatcher so Joanna was left to drive the team. She was becoming experienced at handling the horses by now; however, this morning she was having trouble with them. The lead horse had developed a
sore ankle, so Fosset had been harnessed in his place. Fosset was acting up as usual, and it took all of Joanna’s strength to control him. His misbehavior was making the other team horses nervous and jittery. Joanna was giving all her attention to the horses, so she didn’t notice that Claudia had ridden alongside the wagon.

“What’s the matter, Joanna, having trouble?” Claudia asked in a honey-sweet voice.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Joanna said, pulling hard on the reins to prove she was capable of controlling the team.

“I’m surprised you aren’t at the front of the train so you can make cow-eyes at Harland,” Claudia said spitefully.

“I’ll leave the batting of eyelashes to you, Claudia. You do it so well.”

Claudia’s face reddened, and she bit her lower lip. “I have a message to you from Harland; he says you will be taking the drag today,” she said, hoping to goad Joanna into anger.

Joanna knew that Captain Thatcher had sent her no such message. Simon had told her earlier that she was to take the third position from the front. She smiled inwardly, knowing Claudia was trying to bait her. It was a well-known fact that anyone who had the end position was forced to eat the dust from the other wagons. Usually the positions were rotated so no one had to take the rear too often.

“I would prefer to take the drag today,” Joanna said, knowing Claudia would get very little satisfaction if she acted complacent. “Fosset does not take well to the harness, so it will be best if we lag behind.” Joanna gave Claudia her sweetest smile.

Claudia’s face became distorted with unleashed fury. What was it about Joanna that made her so unsure of herself? She always seemed to come out looking like a spoiled child when she sparred with Joanna. Claudia whirled her horse around and rode off in a cloud of dust. The day would come when she would witness the proud Joanna James’s downfall, she vowed.

Tag slammed his book down on the seat. “I don’t like Claudia Maxwell. Why do you allow her to get the better of you?”

“She doesn’t get the best of me, Tag. If you were older and wiser you would realize that she is the loser. I pity her because she is the most miserable, unhappy girl I have ever known.”

“Well, I don’t feel sorry for her. If she were a boy instead of a girl, I would punch her for treating you the way she does.”

Joanna smiled at her brother fondly. “I can see that I have a champion in you. Perhaps if Claudia had a brother to care about her the way I do, she wouldn’t be the way she is.”

“I don’t know how you can defend her. I don’t know anyone on this wagon train who likes her.”

“The only thing that needs concern you at the moment is finishing that chapter, Taggart James. Leave Claudia to me. I know how to handle her.”

“It doesn’t appear to me that you handled her very well,” Tag said angrily. “It will be you and me that eat dust all day, not her.”

“There are harder things to digest than dust, Tag.”

“Such as?”

“Pride, Tag, pride.”

“Sometimes I don’t understand you, Joanna. You didn’t always allow people to walk all over you. I remember how you stood up to Uncle Howard and Aunt Margaret.”

Joanna ruffled his red-gold curls. “You talk too much. If you don’t read that chapter you will have to do it tonight,” she reminded him.

The signal was given to move out, and Joanna had no more time to talk; she was too busy trying to control Fosset.

By early afternoon the wide prairies gave way to jagged cliffs and high plateaus. Joanna was exhausted from fighting with Fosset who seemed to grow worse as the day progressed. Her arms were aching, and she knew that by tonight her muscles would be sore.

She saw Claudia riding toward her, and she cautioned Tag with a warning glance not to voice his opinion.

“Eating dust, Joanna?” Claudia jabbed.

“Franny once told me that one must eat a bucketful of dirt before one reaches adulthood,” Joanna said, smiling at her
brother. “I was just saying to Tag this morning that there are far worse things to eat than a little dirt.”

Tag returned his sister’s smile.

Before Claudia could reply, a bloodcurdling yell pierced the air.

“Indians!” Claudia screamed. “We’ll all be killed!”

Joanna watched in horror as a band of Indians rode toward the vulnerable wagon train. They were yelling and waving their weapons in the air. A few scattered shots rang out from the wagon train, and several of them hit their target, but the wagon train was badly outnumbered, and there was no time to form a circle to defend themselves.

“Tag, you and Franny get in the back of the wagon and lie down flat!” Joanna cried out.

“No, I’m staying with you!” Tag objected loudly.

“Taggart, do as I say! I’m having a hard enough time controlling Fosset. I don’t want to have to worry about you.”

Franny lay down and pulled a coverlet over her head, praying loudly all the while, but Tag refused to budge.

“This time I won’t mind you, Joanna,” he said as he pulled the rifle out from under the seat and aimed it at an advancing Indian.

Joanna hardly had time to think as Fosset reared up and broke out of formation. The other team horses followed the fear-crazed Fosset’s lead, and Joanna knew that they were out of control. She could see that the team was heading for a huge boulder, and she pulled on the reins with all her might, but the horses refused to obey her command. The wagon hit the rock with a force that sent Tag sailing through the air to land on the ground with a heavy thud.

Joanna pulled on the reins with renewed strength, but still the horses refused to yield. Her thoughts were more on Tag’s safety than her own. Suddenly she saw the wagon heading toward a deep ravine. As the wagon neared the cliff, the horses made a sharp turn, and the wagon broke loose, careening down the steep ravine. Joanna screamed as the wagon turned end-over-end, throwing her onto the rocky ground. She landed
hard against a huge boulder. The impact shot pain through her body, and Joanna knew that she had been injured. She tried to move and gasped from the intense pain.

“God, please help Tag,” she prayed just before she lost consciousness.

Tag was too stunned to move for a moment. He could hear the sound of gunfire and yelling all about him. He shook his head to clear it, and then glanced about, trying to locate Joanna. Jumping to his feet, Tag saw the wagon teeter on the edge of the ravine. He held his breath as he watched it fall over the cliff.

Fear for his sister was the uppermost thought in his mind. He ran toward the cliff, praying silently that Joanna and Franny would be unharmed.

Tag heard a loud piercing scream, and turned just in time to see Amanda Phillips struggling with two Indians. He realized that he still clutched the rifle in his hand, so he quickly raised it and aimed at one of the Indians. He had never shot a man before, so he hesitated for a moment. Amanda screamed again as one of the Indians picked her up.

Tag pulled the trigger! Nothing happened; the gun was empty! He didn’t pause to think, but ran to Amanda’s aid. Lifting the rifle, he drew back and swung it at one of the Indians, hitting him hard across the back, causing him to release Amanda.

“Run, Amanda, run,” Tag cried. He had no time to run himself, for one of the Indians grabbed him roughly by the arm, raising his knife, ready to plunge it into Tag’s heart. Tag watched the knife as it descended, knowing he could do nothing to prevent his death. He was surprised when a third Indian grabbed the knife from the hand of his would-be slayer and spoke to the man. Tag remembered Running Elk, chief of the Piegans, and wondered why he had spared his life.

Tag’s arms were quickly bound with rawhide ropes, and he was tied to an old tree stump, unable to move. He was forced to watch as one of the Indians caught Amanda and bound and tied her to the same tree stump.

The horrible scene of death was all about them, and Tag shuddered when he saw an Indian run his spear through Amanda’s father, Mr. Phillips. He quickly looked away rather than watch the savage ply his knife to Mr. Phillips’s scalp. He was grateful that Amanda hadn’t seen her father’s death. She was crying hysterically, and Tag realized tears were washing down his face as well. His eyes moved to the spot where the wagon with Joanna and Franny had gone over the cliff. He was grateful that they had been spared the horror of what was happening to the families of the wagon train. Surely Joanna could not have survived such a fall. Tag’s slight body began to tremble. He closed his eyes and tried to close his mind to the sounds of moaning and screaming.

Suddenly he was aware that the screaming had stopped. He opened his eyes and saw the Indians setting fire to the wagons.

“Tag, why do you suppose they didn’t kill us?” Amanda asked between sobs.

“I don’t know, Amanda. Close your eyes. I don’t think you want to watch.”

“They’re all dead, Tag. All of them.”

Tag wished he had the words of comfort to give Amanda; he somehow felt years older than she at the moment. His heart ached for Joanna. He remembered how painful it had been to lose his mother, but the pain was more intense now. He and Joanna had shared so many things…she had been his whole world.

Turning his head to where the wagon had gone over the cliff, he saw Running Elk. “I will kill him for this, Joanna,” he said between clenched teeth. “One day I will avenge your death. I swear it.”

Running Elk stood at the top of the gorge and looked down at the smashed wagon below. He could see the girl with the red hair. She was sprawled on the ground like a broken doll, and he judged her to be dead. Even in death she was beautiful, he thought. She was the reason he had raided the wagon train in the first place.

“Shall I climb down to see if she still lives?” one of his braves asked.

“No, if she isn’t dead she soon will be. I have no use for a dying white girl.” Running Elk turned away and ordered his warriors to mount up. He stepped over the body of a man and paused. Unsheathing his knife, he started to remove the dead man’s scalp, then thought better of it. They must leave quickly because the fort of the long knives was nearby and they might spot the smoke from the burning wagons. He ordered the Blackfoot dead to be gathered up so they could have a proper burial. With one last glance toward the ravine where the girl with the flaming hair lay, he shook his head regretfully and rode away.

One of the Indians grabbed Tag up and placed him roughly on a horse, then mounted behind him. Tag was powerless to help Amanda as she suffered the same treatment. Her eyes sought his, and he saw terror in her glance. What would be their fate? he wondered. Surely if the Indians intended to kill them they would already have done so. Tag felt no joy in being alive since Joanna was dead. As they rode away he glanced once more at the smoldering wagons. It was hard to believe that so many had died.

Windhawk and his warriors had ridden hard all day. He purposefully pushed ahead, fearing he would weaken and ride back for Joanna. When they made camp that night, Windhawk walked away from the others, feeling such a heavy loneliness in his heart. Once more he questioned the great Napi for leading him to Joanna. Had he been mistaken in leaving her? Had Napi meant him to take her away with him?

“It is yet a long way home, my chief. I question your judgment to push so hard the first day,” Gray Fox said, coming up beside Windhawk.

“I think I do not run home, but run away from something,” Windhawk answered.

“You speak in riddles, my friend. Are you referring to the white girl with the flaming hair?”

“Sometimes I believe that you see too much, Gray Fox.”

At that moment there was a great commotion in camp and Windhawk turned his attention to the white man who had come among them. He recognized the old trapper, Crazy Farley. The old man was talking loudly and waving his arms about.

“Let us see why the crazy one has come to us,” Windhawk said, walking toward the campfire.

When Farley saw Windhawk he ran to him. “They all been killed!” Farley raved. “I was on my way to Fort Leavenworth and I seed the smoke. I hid out in the bushes and seed Running Elk and his braves massacring the wagon train!”

Windhawk felt his muscles tense. “What are you talking about, old man? Why do you talk to me in the white man’s tongue?”

Farley sat down on the ground, shaking his grizzly white head. He was too dazed to speak in Blackfoot. “I thought I’d seed ’bout everything, but I ain’t never seed so much killing and carrying on.”

Windhawk grabbed Farley by the shirt front and hauled him to his feet. “You make no sense, old man! Are you saying that Running Elk attacked the wagon train that was camped by the river?”

The old man nodded. “That’s what I’ve been trying to say, ain’t it?”

Windhawk felt anguished and enraged. He could not bear to think of Joanna being dead. “Were they all slain, old man?” he asked, fearing to hear the truth.

Farley shook his head. “I don’t know. I was too far away to make out if there was anyone left alive.”

Windhawk did not pause to consider, but ran toward the horses. “Mount up,” he called to his warriors. “We ride at once.”

“I’m going with you,” Farley said, standing up.

“No, white man,” Gray Fox said as he leaped onto his horse. “It would not be well for you to come with us. If you are wise, you will not be here when we return.”

Farley watched as the fierce Blackfoot warriors rode away, and a plan formed in his mind. He would follow the trail of Running Elk. Perhaps there had been some survivors, and the chief was taking them back to his village. He thought of Joanna and Tag James, and felt sorrow in his heart. He had liked them. He ambled over to his horse, mumbling to himself. It would be far better for them if they had been killed, rather than become captives of Running Elk, he thought.