Savage Tempest (17 page)

She knew how the government had duped the red man before, time and again, and how so many Indian tribes had suffered cruel raids. Even children had been killed in those attacks.

Now was she to witness the carnage she had read about?

Was she to die at the hands of people of her own skin color because she had aligned herself with the Pawnee?

The thought of dying alongside High Hawk did not frighten her as much as it made her feel keen resentment toward the lying white men who just could not stop until they killed every Indian on the face of the earth.

She had lived among the Pawnee long enough to know what a peaceful, loving people they were. They wanted nothing more from life than to live in peace, and to raise their children.

“Is it possible the white chief in Washington has decided to go against his treaties with us?” High Hawk demanded, doubling a fist.

His people had been promised they would not be bothered as long as they walked the road of peace.
His father had walked that road, just as High Hawk planned to walk it.

But now?

What was High Hawk to think?

What was he to do?

“I must see for myself,” he said, reaching a hand to his rifle, which was sheathed in a gunboot at the right side of his horse. “If it is true, we have no choice but to kill those who plot with Mole.”

He glanced at Joylynn. “Under these circumstances, my woman, I want you to return to the village,” he said firmly. “I will send you there with an escort. I do not want anything to happen to you.”

“Please don't ask that of me,” Joylynn said, pleading with her eyes as she gazed into his. “You need all the help you can get if the soldiers are plotting against you. And if they are sitting with Mole and his outlaws, eating with them as though they are kindred souls, then you know they have nothing good on their minds. I want to help you stop what has just begun around that campfire. Anyone who would side with Mole has to be as bad as he.”

“I hope you understand why I must take care of this now before any of my people are harmed,” High Hawk said thickly. “If the soldiers are there plotting with Mole when we arrive at the campsite, they must be among the casualties.”

“I understand,” Joylynn said, her voice tight. “And I will be at your side to help you. You need as
many people fighting with you as possible. I am a crack shot. My father taught me well.”

“But you will be firing upon people of your own skin color,” High Hawk said.

“They might be of my color, but inside their hearts, they are not the same as I,” Joylynn said, placing a gentle hand on his face. “I love you. I love your people. I must do what I can to help.”

High Hawk took her hand and kissed its palm, smiled, then released it.

He turned and gazed over his shoulder at his warriors, whose eyes were lit with the fire of eagerness for what lay ahead of them. “My woman stays with us,” he said, his eyes moving from man to man to see how each felt. “She will be among us as we attack.”

He saw a look of astonishment in some of the men's eyes, and looks of pride in others'. He thanked destiny, which had brought him a woman of such courage, who would risk her life for him, and for his people.

His gaze met Joylynn's again. “Come, we have business to attend to,” he said, then looked over at Three Bears. “You ride on one side, while my woman rides on the other, until we get close enough to stop and leave our horses behind. You know when that should be, since you have seen the camp. Tell me when we should halt our steeds.”

Three Bears nodded and smiled, then sank his heels into the flanks of his horse as High Hawk and
Joylynn rode away with him, the other warriors riding behind them.

The farther they rode, the more frightened Joylynn became. She was going to be part of an attack, and not only that, she would be fighting against people of her own skin color! Once it was over, would she regret her actions?

Or would she be proud to have helped such a fine people as the Pawnee?

She knew the answer to that without thinking about it. She would be proud to help High Hawk and his people.

They rode onward for a while longer, until the smell of smoke from the campfire became stronger.

Then Three Bears raised a fist into the air, turned to High Hawk and nodded. They all brought their horses to a stop.

Joylynn could not help it; her knees were strangely rubbery as she dismounted and grabbed her rifle from the gunboot at Swiftie's side. It was her own rifle, which High Hawk had given back to her after declaring her no longer a captive.

All of the horses were picketed amid thick grass and left to feast upon it while the Pawnee warriors, with High Hawk in the lead and Joylynn at his right side, moved stealthily and quietly onward, some with bows and arrows at the ready, others with loaded rifles.

Joylynn's heart raced as they grew close enough to the camp that she could hear the loud laughter of the men. They must be telling jokes around the campfire, or even laughing at the fate of the red men, women and children whom they planned to ambush.

She had no doubt that was the plan, which made it easier for her to do what she knew she must at High Hawk's side.

She looked heavenward and whispered a prayer, then stopped when High Hawk reached out and grabbed her arm.

“We must hurry into the trees and let their dark shadows hide us from the white men,” he said to Joylynn, only loud enough for her to hear.

He did not have to speak commands aloud to his men. They were practiced at this sort of ambush. They knew they could not give the white eyes the chance to flee. If any white eyes escaped, they would carry the word of this attack back to the one in charge of the pony soldiers.

Silently High Hawk motioned a halt when the men at the campfire came into sight. They were getting ready to mount up.

Joylynn's eyes widened when she saw how many soldiers had aligned themselves with Mole and his murdering, thieving outlaws.

And when she saw a pile of firearms that was being distributed by the soldiers to the outlaws, she
knew there was a collaboration between these murdering thieves and someone in the army. She wondered how far up the chain of command the corruption went.

“My prayers were not ignored.
Tirawahut
, my people's Great Spirit, told me where to come today,” High Hawk whispered as he leaned closer to Joylynn. “My dreams brought me here just in time!”

“I am sickened by what I see,” Joylynn whispered back. “Did you see the rifles? How many there are? The soldiers had to have brought them there, to give to Mole and his men. I am certain they are army-issued rifles.”

“I see it all and I am here to stop it,” High Hawk replied, studying the white men now as they loaded their rifles, laughing, boasting of the Pawnee scalps they would take, the squaws they would rape.

He turned back toward Joylynn. “You have time now to return to the village,” he said, his voice drawn. “If you stay, you will see things that may give you nightmares for the rest of your life.”

He looked at the rifle she clutched hard in her right hand, then gazed into her eyes again. “Especially if you kill people whose skin is white like yours,” he said. “Turn away now if you feel you should. I would understand.”

“I would never turn away from doing justice,” Joylynn said, her eyes filled with loathing for those
who were planning to kill innocent people. She searched his eyes. She squared her shoulders. “And I am not afraid.”

High Hawk smiled. “I saw much courage in you the night we first met,” he said. “You are like no woman I have ever known, and you are mine.”

“
Ho
, yours,” Joylynn said, proud to be using an Indian word now and then, for when she did, she knew she pleased High Hawk.

He reached a hand to her cheek, then nodded. “It is now time,” he said softly.

The attack happened so quickly it seemed like a blur to Joylynn. The Pawnee warriors fired upon the outlaws and their allies. The soldiers grabbed their firearms and tried to defend themselves, but to no avail.

Suddenly there was silence. There were no more reports from the rifles. There was no sound of arrows whizzing through the air. There were no more cries of death.

All who had been plotting against the red men were quiet. Their voices would no longer mock the Pawnee before they killed innocent villagers. None of those who spoke of raping a downed Indian woman were alive to brag about such a deplorable act again. No Indian child would die at the hands of these fallen men today!

But Joylynn had not gotten off one round of gunfire. Once the attack began, she had frozen. Her
eyes wide, she had watched it happen, and then it was over.

A warrior rushed over to High Hawk. “One escaped,” he said breathlessly. “Two of our warriors have gone in pursuit of him.”

Joylynn hardly heard what he said, for her eyes were on Mole. He lay there, quiet, covered with blood.

He was obviously dead.

His reign of terror was over.

He would no longer ambush innocent people, both red and white-skinned.

He would no longer rape helpless women!

She turned her eyes away, for seeing him again brought the rape rushing back into her mind as though it had just happened.

Her hand went almost automatically to her belly. The loss of her child still tore at her soul.

If not for that man, she would have not been pregnant. She would not have aborted an innocent baby!

But if not for him, she would have never met High Hawk. Even now she would be riding Swiftie on her route for the Pony Express.

She never would have known the bliss and joy of being with High Hawk. She would have had no need to hide away from humanity until the child was born. She would not have been at that cabin that night when High Hawk rode by.

“Joylynn?”

High Hawk's voice interrupted her troubled thoughts. She turned quickly toward him.

Her eyes were wide and tears spilled from them as she gazed into his.

“You cry,” High Hawk said, wiping tears from her face with his thumb. “Do you regret having stayed? Do you regret what you now see?”

“No. It is just that seeing Mole again has brought such terrible memories to mind,” she said, glancing again at the outlaw's body.

“He will not touch you again, nor will he harm innocent white people, or red,” High Hawk said.

He gazed past her into the darker depths of the forest, then into her eyes again. “One soldier escaped,” he said. “That means trouble for my people.”

“What do you mean?” Joylynn asked.

“If the escaped soldier is not found, he will carry news of today's ambush to those in charge,” High Hawk said. “I must see that my people do not suffer because of what had to be done today.”

“What can you do?” Joylynn asked, placing a gentle hand on his smooth, copper cheek. She ached inside to see the torment in his eyes.

“We must return home quickly and prepare my people for a quick departure to a place where they can hide from the pony soldiers,” High Hawk said. “
Ho
, when that soldier arrives at his fort and explains what happened today, the pony soldiers will come in large numbers, looking for High Hawk
and his warriors. Not only that. They will slaughter my entire Wolf band.”

“Your warriors will surely find him,” Joylynn said, horrified at the thought of what High Hawk now feared.

“Even so, once the bodies of these downed soldiers are found, I fear there will be trouble,” he said. He gazed at her rifle and saw that it had not been fired. “I am glad you did not fire upon the whites. That means that if they ever catch us, they cannot fault you for what happened. They will, instead, see you as my captive and will take you with them, thinking they have saved you from a ‘savage.'”

Joylynn dropped her rifle and flung herself into his arms. “I can never leave you, not for any reason,” she sobbed, clinging to him. “You are my life, High Hawk. You are my very breath and heartbeat.”

“As you are mine,” he said, gently holding her. “That is why we must leave quickly for the mountains. I have always known this would happen, that a time would come when my people would be forced to seek shelter away from the white eyes. I have searched and found the place where more children will be born into our band, and where those who are children now will grow up and have children of their own.”

“You already know where you will go?” Joylynn asked. “You knew this might happen?”

“Always,” High Hawk said, again drawing her close and hugging her.

Suddenly there was the sound of horses arriving.

Joylynn's heart skipped a beat. Had the sound of gunshots brought someone to investigate already?

But soon the two warriors who'd been sent to find the escaped soldier came into view. They rode up to High Hawk.

“He is long gone,” one of them said. “We traced his tracks, then lost them in the river. He has apparently gotten far ahead of us.”

“Then we must hurry home and prepare for our departure immediately. Once that soldier arrives at his fort, and reports what happened, the white eyes will be out for blood . . .
ours
,” he said. “Hurry home. Prepare your families quickly for departure. You know where we are going. I have met in council with you and told you.”

He turned and looked at the stack of rifles, and at others lying beside the dead men.

He gave his warriors a tight-jawed look. “Before we head for home, gather up all the rifles you can find among the dead, as well as those stacked there. They are now ours. If the white eyes find us, we will use their own firearms against them.”

The warriors nodded, and after gathering up the rifles, hurried to their picketed horses.

Joylynn took one last look at Mole, not allowing herself to again relive the rape, then smiled and ran alongside High Hawk until they reached their horses.

Soon they were riding hard toward their village, knowing that time was now their enemy.