Savage Tempest (21 page)

Having chosen the warriors whom he wished to accompany him down the mountainside, High Hawk led them and Joylynn back down the path on which they had traveled.

Hearing the thundering of the hooves, Blanket
Woman lowered the blanket away from her face. She turned and saw the last of the warriors as they disappeared from sight around a slight bend in the mountain pass.

“
Tirawahut
, please keep them safe,” she whispered, tears falling from her eyes. “
Tirawahut
, please bring my only remaining son, High Hawk, back to me. If I should lose him, I would lose my reason for living.”

Still crying, she stretched out on the travois, clinging to it as the warrior who was dragging it continued along his way.

The Wolf band was fleeing discovery by the white eyes. The looks of hope on all their faces had changed to fear, for once again, their universe was being torn apart by the soldiers under the command of the great white chief in Washington!

It was more dangerous than Joylynn had imagined as they backtracked along the mountain pass.

She kept an eye on the location of the soldiers and the outlaws with her binoculars. She felt sad to think about what lay ahead. More soldiers would have to die. Although High Hawk was a man of peace, his hand had been forced now more than once, in order to preserve his people's right to live. The cavalry seemed intent on wiping the Pawnee off the face of the earth.

Joylynn held tightly to her reins with her left hand, while with her right she held the binoculars steady as she peered through them.

Before her eyes was the man she hated with a passion.

She still did not see how he could be alive, but there he was, riding on a horse, a cigarillo hanging from the corner of his mouth, his eyes, which she
remembered as being almost bottomless, seeming to know she was looking at him. The way he held his head now, it seemed as though he was looking directly into the lenses of the binoculars.

She even saw a mocking smile flutter across his lips as he took his cigarillo from between them and flipped it over his shoulder, onto the path he and the others were traveling.

Her heart thumping, Joylynn lowered the binoculars, then gazed slowly up at the sun, which stood at the midpoint in the sky. Had it reflected on the glass, sending a message to Mole that she was there, staring at him?

She had to be more careful. If Mole hadn't seen the reflection in the glass this time, he might the next.

“My brother . . .” she heard High Hawk gasp.

She looked quickly at him and saw tears filling his eyes as he leaned over and stared down the side of the cliff.

Joylynn followed the path of his eyes.

Her heart ached with sadness when she, too, saw Sleeping Wolf. He lay on a slight outcropping of rock just below them.

Everyone dismounted at once.

Forgetting the soldiers and outlaw down below, Joylynn watched as several warriors helped High Hawk retrieve his brother. They brought his body up and laid it out on the rock floor.

Joylynn watched High Hawk as he knelt beside his brother and placed a gentle hand on his cold,
copper cheek. He knew that he could not wail and pray aloud to the heavens over his loss, for the sound would echo and travel down below where the white men could hear him. That was all they would need to know they were on the right track.

Joylynn became aware of the sound of splashing water. There was a waterfall somewhere near.

Would that not be the perfect place for Sleeping Wolf's burial? It would not be wise to carry him back to his mother. She would not want to see how the fall had further disfigured him. His face was now covered with dried blood, his eyes frozen as they stared straight ahead.

High Hawk had not been able to close them when he'd tried.

“High Hawk, wouldn't it be wonderful to bury your brother beside a waterfall?” Joylynn asked as she knelt down beside him. “One is near. I hear it. It would be so peaceful there for your brother. He would not be alone. He would have the music of the water with him at all times.”

High Hawk smiled at her. “
Ho
, that is where we will take him,” he said, then lifted Sleeping Wolf into his arms and walked until they found the waterfall.

They didn't have any digging tools, so they had to depend on a thick cover of stones and rocks to protect Sleeping Wolf's body from being disturbed by animals. It had not been bothered on the narrow ledge. No animals could have gotten down to him.

It was as though
Tirawahut
had guided his fall
and seen that he fell where his body would be safe until his brother found him.

Now Sleeping Wolf's body was fully covered and prayers were being said over it.

Then Joylynn exclaimed at the sudden appearance of many eagles flying low overhead, as though they had come to say a final good-bye to Sleeping Wolf.

They continued circling until Joylynn watched one peel off from the others. It settled into a nest on a slight outcropping of rock near the waterfall.

She gasped when she saw several heads pop into view.

“Baby eagles,” she said, drawing High Hawk's eyes there, too.

“My brother loved eagles,” High Hawk said, sliding an arm around Joylynn's waist. “Sleeping Wolf will be at peace here where eagles nest. His spirit will fly forever with the eagles.”

“It is so sad that your mother can't be here for Sleeping Wolf's burial,” Joylynn said, wiping tears from her eyes.

“She
is
here,” High Hawk said thickly. “In spirit she is here and always will be for her firstborn son.”

He wiped tears from Joylynn's cheeks; then everyone returned to their horses.

They traveled onward until they had descended far enough to get a better view of the men in pursuit of them.

The soldiers not only carried firearms in their
hands; they were also dragging a cannon along behind them. Apparently, they had planned to kill many Pawnee at once with balls from the cannon.

“We have no choice but to stop them,” High Hawk said tightly. “And now, not later.”

“Are we close enough to fire down on them?” Joylynn asked.

She felt nothing in common with the men below, even though they were people of her own skin color. But that was the only thing they shared. Inside, they were completely different. The hearts of these men were filled with darkness; they took joy from killing innocent Indians—men, women and children alike.

In her heart was kindness toward all people except those who lived to murder and maim anyone who got in their way.

She knew that this time she could not freeze when it came time to shoot. Each shot was important.

This time, they could not allow anyone down below to survive.

High Hawk could not risk any more soldiers getting close to his mountain, not until his people were safely hidden away in their new stronghold.

“This is where we must make our stand,” High Hawk said, drawing rein and stopping his horse. Everyone halted behind him.

In silence they dismounted and picketed their horses.

In silence they drew their weapons from their gunboots.

No arrows would be used this time.

Only guns.

Joylynn grabbed her own breech-loading rifle from her gunboot. She opened the rifle breech and placed cartridges in it, cocked the firearm, then eased the hammer into place.

She followed alongside High Hawk to the place where they could get the best aim and a clean shot.

They all stretched out on their bellies on the hard rock. They took aim.

Joylynn felt strange as she began firing at her own kind, but this time she did not freeze as she had the other time. She kept reminding herself that these soldiers were collaborating with outlaws.

She was fighting not only for her own survival, but for all of High Hawk's people. They were innocent of any wrongdoing, yet they were being hunted down like mad dogs.

She loved these Pawnee people.

She would do everything she could to defend them.

Her pulse racing, she took a more steady aim this time. She saw Mole firing steadily at her and the others. Thus far none of the Pawnee warriors had been hit, but many soldiers down below were dropping from the gunfire.

“You can't have nine lives,” Joylynn whispered to herself as she held her aim steady on Mole.

She fired.

She saw his body lurch.

She had hit him.

She smiled victoriously when he fell from his horse. She saw him hit the ground, and watched carefully for any movement.

Seeing none, she was certain this time that he was dead!

She continued firing until no one was left alive down below.

Joylynn lowered her rifle and stood up.

As she continued to stare at the bodies lying so quietly on the ground, she was once again swept by a feeling of disbelief at her role in this attack, but then she recalled how so many soldiers said, “The only good Indian is a dead Indian.”

Those soldiers had not known the sort of people the Pawnee were. They were devoted to their families, loved their children, were doing what they had to do to survive.

The white man was trying everything he could to stop their survival.

Laying her rifle aside, Joylynn lifted the binoculars to her eyes and surveyed the death and devastation below. She had to make certain they were all dead, especially Mole.

She saw a lone soldier move slightly, and realized that he could only be about eighteen years of age. She was torn about what to do, for she had not known the soldiers could be so young.

She hated to think he might have been downed by her own bullet.

Yet he was still alive.

She flinched when she saw him look in her direction.

She knew he could not see her, but she could look into his eyes. There was a pleading look on his face, as though he knew he was being observed.

Suddenly she realized that she could not leave this young man to die a slow death, and she certainly could not shoot another bullet into him. Nor could she allow anyone else to. Surely this young man had survived for a purpose.

“High Hawk, look through the binoculars,” Joylynn said, quickly handing them to him. “A . . . a . . . young man, oh, much too young to be with the soldiers, has survived. Look. You will see. Please, we can't shoot at him again. Somehow . . . it . . . doesn't seem right.”

High Hawk was torn, too, when he looked through the binoculars and saw the boy's age. There were so many of his own young braves of that age who would have gladly taken up arms to defend their people just as this young man had probably believed he was doing. He had not realized he was part of a plan to completely annihilate the red man.

“We will go get the young brave and take him to our shaman,” High Hawk said, handing the binoculars back to her. “If he survives, he survives. If he does not, he does not. We will take him with us. Time will tell what his true fate is meant to be.”

“What if he lives and is well enough to return home? Will you allow it?” Joylynn asked, remembering how it felt to be a captive.

“Should he survive, I will accompany the young man back down the mountain and hope that he will be so grateful for having been allowed to live, he will not spread the word as to where he has been. I will blindfold him so that he will not know the paths that could lead him back to my people.”

Having heard High Hawk's plan, some of his warriors came to him, frowning. They told him that they did not agree.

High Hawk ignored them, taking other men with him to get the lad. Joylynn accompanied them, for she felt she must take one last look at Mole, to make certain this time that he was dead.

Joylynn was stiff with apprehension as she approached the bodies of the soldiers and Mole. All were dead except for that young soldier. She and High Hawk went immediately to him and looked down at him from their saddles, finding him unconscious, but breathing.

High Hawk and Joylynn dismounted beside the young man while the warriors rode slowly around the campsite, checking the dead to see if there might be others who were alive.

“He must be worse than I thought,” Joylynn said as she knelt on one side of the young man, while High Hawk knelt on the other. She glanced up at High Hawk. “Is . . . he . . . dying?”

“No, I do not think so, for the wound that I see is not serious enough to kill anyone,” High Hawk said as he ripped the boy's torn pants away from his wounded leg. “He must have fainted from fear
of all that happened here, for no bullet entered his leg. It just grazed the flesh.”

“But there is so much blood,” Joylynn said, shuddering at the sight. Not wanting to see all of the dead, not even Mole, she did not look past the young man. She knew that when Mole fell from the horse, he had already been dead from the direct hit to his chest.

She swallowed hard, still in disbelief that she could have shot anyone in cold blood, yet she had. She had downed more than one man today with the accuracy of her aim.

She kept telling herself that she had saved innocent people by having done this. Had these men been allowed to live, they would have hunted down High Hawk's band of Pawnee until they found and killed them.

“Blood does spill even from a wound such as this, but it is a little wound compared to others,” High Hawk said. “He is awakening.”

High Hawk and Joylynn watched the young man's eyes slowly flutter open. Fear appeared in them when he saw High Hawk, an Indian, kneeling beside him.

In his panic, he had not yet noticed Joylynn.

He was trying to stand, but fell back down when he tried to put weight on his wounded leg.

“Please don't be afraid,” Joylynn murmured, bringing his wide eyes to her as he sat there, trembling. In them she saw surprise and curiosity.

She watched his eyes slowly move over her, noting that she was dressed in Indian attire.