Savage Winter (16 page)

“I say he will not be pleased that you will bring death and destruction down on your village,” Joanna said, looking unafraid into his dark eyes.

He shoved her out of the way and gestured for her to go over and sit beside Morning Song.

Both girls watched as one of the Indians built a small fire using smokeless willow branches, while the other huddled beneath his blanket.

Joanna and Morning Song were forced to watch the Indians eat, while hunger pangs gnawed at their stomachs. After the Cree had satisfied their hunger, the girls were again lashed to a tree, with no protection from the cold rain.

Joanna was thirsty, and it appeared her captors weren’t going to offer her and Morning Song water or food. Since their capture, the Cree had allowed them very little to eat and drink. Today they allowed them nothing.

Joanna raised her head into the rain and felt it running down her face and neck. Although it was raining steadily, she couldn’t get enough into her mouth to satisfy her thirst.

Suddenly, she heard Morning Song scream out, and she strained her neck to look around the tree to see what was happening to her. Joanna saw Morning Song had been freed from her ropes, and both of the Indians were dragging her across the ground.

Joanna struggled with all her strength but was unable to loosen the ropes. She knew the Indians were going to rape Morning Song, and she would have to use their fear of Windhawk if she was going to help his sister!

“Before you do this thing, ask the great father to save you—because you are already dead men!” she called out in a loud voice.

The Indian who had told her his name was Stalking Wolf was pushing Morning Song’s dress up while the other one held her arms. She saw Stalking Wolf pause and look in her direction.

“Why do you say this to me?” he asked.

“Have you not heard that Windhawk can see with the eyes of the spirits? Has it not reached your ears that he ate the heart of the white buffalo?”

The younger of the two looked at his friend. “I have heard this of Windhawk, Stalking Wolf. His woman speaks the truth. It is said that if one is the enemy of the great Windhawk, he will die.”

Joanna could read doubt and fear on both their faces. She knew she must press her advantage. “I have heard my husband call the wrath of the spirits down upon his enemies. Your chief would not be well pleased if he learned that you incurred the wrath of Windhawk!” She now saw unbridled fear on the younger Indian’s face and hoped they would leave Morning Song untouched.

“Do not listen to her, Big Hand. She is only trying to gain her freedom,” Stalking Wolf told his friend.

“But what if she speaks the truth, Stalking Wolf?”

“Go ahead and do the deed if you believe this. Do you have those that you love in your village?” Joanna taunted. “I am sorry for you, because when you return home you will find no one alive.”

Big Hand released his hold on Morning Song and stood up. “You can do what you want to, Stalking Wolf, but I will not touch either one of these maidens. I am going home! I believe that Windhawk’s woman speaks the truth. I do not
want to see my mother and father dead! You are a fool if you do not heed her warning!”

Stalking Wolf searched Joanna’s face. “You have won, Windhawk’s woman,” he said, standing up and helping Morning Song to her feet.

“What are you going to do with them, Stalking Wolf?” his friend asked.

Stalking Wolf pushed Morning Song toward the tree and lashed her to it once more. “I am going to leave them tied to the tree. If Windhawk has the eyes of the spirits, he will find them. Should they be devoured by wild animals or die of hunger, it will not be at our hands that they perish,” he said, throwing a buffalo robe to Morning Song. “Take this to keep you warm; I will offer you nothing more.”

Joanna didn’t know whether to feel relieved or more frightened than ever. Would she and Morning Song die here in the wilderness and be eaten by wild animals? Already they were weak from hunger and thirst.

Joanna and Morning Song watched the two Cree warriors ride away with a feeling of helplessness. Joanna was glad that she had managed to frighten Big Hand and Stalking Wolf, but she would have liked it better if they had untied her and Morning Song before they left.

Stalking Wolf halted his mount and looked back at Joanna. “Tell Windhawk that you and his sister came to no harm at my hands.” He then turned his horse and rode off into the night, leaving deadly silence behind him.

“Joanna, you saved me,” Morning Song sobbed. “They were going to…to…”

Joanna felt around until she found Morning Song’s hand. “Do not cry, little sister. Be brave…I know we will come out of this yet.”

“Joanna, do you think Windhawk will come after us? What if he comes too late, and we are unable to get free?”

“I believe we should look on the bright side, Morning Song. Just think how much better off we are now than we were with Stalking Wolf and Big Hand.”

Joanna didn’t have the heart to tell Morning Song they might have traded a life of captivity for that of the slow death of starvation. But she knew if she had her choice she would rather die tied to this tree than to have her body degraded by the two Cree warriors.

She couldn’t help but think of the baby who depended on her for its survival. If she died now, Windhawk would never know it was his child she carried. Until now, the baby hadn’t seemed real to her. She felt a mother’s instinct to protect her young, as she felt the child move inside her.

Joanna couldn’t resist the shudder that wracked her body when she heard the far-off howl of a wolf pack.

“Did you hear that? It is wolves, and they are getting closer!” Morning Song said in a frightened voice.

“Yes,” Joanna whispered through trembling lips.

She renewed her struggle but try as she might, she still couldn’t free her hands!

The Blackfoot village was in deep mourning. The death-chant could be heard for miles across the wide valley. Sun Woman, in her grief at losing two daughters, had rubbed ashes on her face and clothing. She had then whipped herself with a willow branch until her arms and face were covered with deep welts, which bled freely.

“I have lost two daughters,” she chanted over and over. Many of her friends had joined her and were chanting the death cry. Amanda sat with her newborn baby on her lap, crying tears of grief for her friend, Joanna. She was glad that Tag was away from the village and didn’t yet know of his sister’s death. Of course, he would have to be told, and she dreaded his finding out about the horrible way Joanna had died.

Windhawk and most of his braves had left three days ago, heading for the Cree village, seeking revenge. Farley had wanted to go also, but Windhawk hadn’t allowed him to take part in the raid.

The only one who didn’t seem to be grieving was Red Bird. Her eyes were fever-bright as she thought what the death of Flaming Hair would mean for her. Now she was sure that Windhawk would turn to her! After all, he was a powerful chief who needed a wife to give him children and to cook and clean for him.

It was a cold morning and not yet sunrise when Windhawk and his Blackfoot warriors approached the sleeping, unsuspecting Cree village.

Windhawk topped the hill and waved his lance in the air, urging his braves forward. As the sound of thundering hooves reached the people of the Cree tribe there was mass confusion, since they were still in a sleep-drugged state. Arrows flew, finding their targets, and lances pierced the hearts of the Blackfoot enemies.

Windhawk was driven by a force stronger than himself—the power of grief and revenge caused him to show no mercy to the people whom he blamed for Joanna’s and Morning Song’s deaths. His hands were covered with the blood of the Cree, and still he charged forward.

Riding to the middle of the village, he stopped before the lodge that he knew would belong to the chief. He dismounted, threw back the flap, and entered with his knife drawn and his senses alert. His eyes fell on the older man who was trying to get his family to safety through the hole he had cut in the back of the lodge.

The chief had pushed the last member of his family through the slit in his lodge, and he turned slowly to face Windhawk, seemingly unafraid.

“Are you the chief of the Cree?” Windhawk asked, circling his enemy.

The old man nodded his head. “I am Horse Runner, chief of the Cree. Who are you and why have you swooped down upon my people without warning?”

“You are in no position to ask questions, Horse Runner. I will spare your life so you may tell all who asked why you have felt my vengeance this day. Your people killed and burned my woman and my sister. Count your dead, old man, and know that twice as many will die if you ever come to Blackfoot territory again!”

“Who are you?” the old man asked again, thinking he faced some vengeful young god.

“I ask the questions, old man! Do you know which of your warriors has slain my wife and sister? I believe there were no more than four.”

“I know of none of my braves who have been in Blackfoot territory,” the chief said truthfully, since he had no notion who had killed the young warrior’s wife and sister.

Windhawk reached into his pouch and pulled out the armband he had found in the burned-out tipi and handed it to the chief. “Do you recognize this?”

The old man drew in his breath and with a trembling hand took the armband he had once given to his youngest son. He kept his eyes downcast, fearing the vengeful young warrior would read the truth in his eyes.

“I know not who this belongs to. It belongs to no one of my village.”

Windhawk’s hand shot out, and he jerked the man forward by the shirtfront. “You lie, Horse Runner! I can see by your eyes that you know who this armband belongs to. Deliver these men to me at once.”

The guilty truth shone in Horse Runner’s frightened eyes. “The ones you seek are not here.”

“Are they not among the dead?”

“No, they are not.”

Windhawk shoved Horse Runner away from him. “I know you would not tell me their names if I should ask it of you. I
will charge you to tell them for me that they should always look over their shoulders…for the time shall come when they will feel my revenge for slaying my woman and my sister!”

“Who are you?” the Cree chief asked again.

“Tell your people that you have met Windhawk and lived,” he said, turning away and disappearing outside.

The Cree chief stood stunned into silence. He had heard many tales of the young Blood chief, and today he had met the legendary Windhawk in all his fury. He tasted fear and knew he was indeed fortunate that he was still alive.

Walking outside, Horse Runner saw with a heavy heart that the ground was littered with the dead and dying. The fire from the smoldering tipis lit the skies.

“Such a day the world has never known,” he said, shaking his head sadly. It was still early morning, and the sun was barely up—yet he knew the Cree would long tell of this day—thus adding to the legend of Windhawk!

Horse Runner clasped his son’s armband in his hand and wondered if he were dead. Sadness and a need for revenge burned in his heart. Windhawk and his Bloods must pay for what they did here today! he thought bitterly.

It was later that same day when Stalking Wolf and Big Hand rode into their village. Their eyes were wide with fright at the scene of death that greeted them.

“Windhawk is of the spirit gods,” Big Hand told his friend. “His woman was right—we have brought his wrath down upon our people!”

The two young warriors rode past the burning tipis until they came to the chief’s lodge. In the dark recesses of their mind, they knew great fear as they realized, without being told, that Windhawk had done this thing to their people. Each of them felt guilt, knowing the part he had played in causing the death and destruction in their village.

Horse Runner watched his oldest son, Stalking Wolf,
dismount with a heavy heart. “Where is your brother?” he asked in a thundering voice.

Stalking Wolf lowered his head, unable to meet his father’s eyes. “He is dead,” he whispered, feeling shame.

Horse Runner’s eyes were piercing as he took his spear and knocked his son to the ground with the handle. “You have much to answer for, Stalking Wolf! The blood of your brother and all who have died here today are on your hands, and they cry out to be avenged!”

The night was dark and cold—a steady, chilling rain was falling. Joanna leaned her head back against the tree trunk, feeling helpless. She was exhausted from trying to free herself. She knew her wrists were cut and bleeding from her struggle to get loose from the leather ropes.

Ominous sounds were coming from the darkened recesses of the dense forest, and Joanna shivered. The sounds of the wolf pack were drawing closer, and Joanna knew it would only be a matter of time before the animals would pick up her and Morning Song’s scent.

Joanna felt her child move within her body and again experienced a strong mother’s protectiveness toward her unborn baby. She must survive for her child’s sake!

“Morning Song, are you awake?” she asked.

“Yes,” came the weak reply. “I have a knife in my moccasin, Joanna, and have been trying to get to it.”

“Hurry, my sister! I fear we do not have much time,” Joanna urged.

Morning Song had heard the wolves getting nearer, and she bent her knees, bringing her legs up as close to her body as she could. Moving her head downward, she unlaced her moccasin with her teeth. Slowly bringing her foot forward, she slid it across her knee. Moments passed slowly, and at last, after a painful struggle, she was able to remove her moccasin. Bending forward once more, she picked up her moccasin with her teeth and dumped the knife into her lap.

Morning Song tried to decide how she could transfer the
knife to her hand so she could cut the ropes. “Joanna, if I put the knife between my toes and bring my foot back to your hand, can you reach it?” she asked.

“I’ll try, Morning Song, but hurry!”

Anxious moments passed as Morning Song caught the knife between her toes and struggled to get to a kneeling position. The ropes cut deeply into her wrist, but she didn’t allow the pain to stop her. Joanna groped for the feel of the knife. Once Morning Song dropped the knife and had to start all over again.

Joanna could hear the wolves coming ever closer, and her heart pounded with fear. If they couldn’t free themselves, she prayed her death would come before Windhawk’s gentle sister’s. She didn’t want to be a witness to Morning Song’s being torn apart by the wolves’ sharp fangs.

Again Joanna groped for the knife, and soon was rewarded by feeling the sharp point biting into her skin. She grasped it by the tip and could feel it slipping. With a silent prayer to heaven, addressing her God and Windhawk’s, she prayed for the strength to hold on to the knife.

Degree by slow degree, she finally managed to transfer the knife to her other hand. Grasping the hilt, she cut into the leather ropes that were bound about Morning Song’s wrists, and the young girl jerked her hands free!

Morning Song quickly crawled over to Joanna and took the knife from her. Laughing and crying at the same time, she sliced through the rope, freeing Joanna!

Morning Song helped Joanna to her feet, and the two girls hugged each other tightly.

Joanna looked toward the dark woods and knew their only salvation from the hungry wolves would be to climb a tree. The one they had been tied to had low-hanging branches, so she decided it would be as good as any.

“Grab a branch and swing into the tree, Morning Song. The wolves will be here soon!”

After Morning Song had ascended into the tree, Joanna threw the buffalo robe up to her and then swung into the
safety of the branches herself. The two girls climbed onto the higher branches until they felt they would be out of reach of the wolf pack.

They huddled together, quaking from fear as much as from the cold. They were both too tense to relax, and both realized they had a long way to go before they would be safe.

Morning Song looked down below, feeling relief wash over her. “I feel sure the wolves cannot reach us here, Joanna. We are safe!”

Joanna pulled the young girl’s head to rest on her shoulder. “No, they cannot get us now, Morning Song.”

Joanna thought the night would never end. The wind seemed to intensify, and the icy rain turned to sleet. She held Morning Song close to her, trying to keep them both warm beneath the buffalo robe. She was afraid to fall asleep herself for fear that one of them might tumble out of the tree.

She knew she loved Windhawk’s sweet sister, but she hadn’t known how much until the Cree had threatened to rape her. Morning Song had lived a very sheltered and protected life, and Joanna hated the thought that such ugliness had touched her world.

By now, the snarling, hunger-crazed wolf pack had reached the base of the tree and had picked up the girls’ scent. The wolves then circled the tree and leaped as high as they could, trying to get to the two girls. Joanna had no fear that the animals could reach their safe haven. She couldn’t help thinking that, had they not made it into the shelter of the tree, they would have been ripped apart by the wolves’ sharp fangs.

Joanna was cold and hungry, and her body ached all over. She didn’t know how they would ever get home—but they were alive, and for that she thanked God!

Morning Song’s sleep was disturbed by the sound of the snarling wolves, and Joanna talked to her in a soothing voice, hoping she would fall asleep again. The young girl was so tired she sighed and closed her eyes, drifting off into a dreamless sleep, where she felt warm and protected.

Windhawk rode into his village and went directly to his own lodge. He stripped his bloody garments off and fell down on his buffalo robe. “Do not think about Joanna and Morning Song,” he murmured out loud. “Sleep, I need sleep,” he whispered in a pain-filled voice. Closing his eyes, he prayed he wouldn’t dream of the charred bones of his wife and sister. He fell into such a deep sleep that he didn’t hear Red Bird enter his lodge. She stood over him, devouring his magnificent body with hungry eyes. She felt a tightening in her stomach and knew she must have this man!

“Leave the lodge of this chief!” Sun Woman said, taking Red Bird by the arm and pushing her none too gently toward the opening.

When they were outside the lodge, Red Bird shrugged Sun Woman’s hand off her arm. “I am the daughter of a great chief—you dare to treat me with such disrespect?”

“As you know, I am the mother of Windhawk. I dare do as I please! Your father, Yellow Wing, was only recently made chief of the Piegans. My son, Windhawk, is not only chief of the Bloods, but his father was also a great chief.” Sun Woman was pleased to see the Piegan woman lower her eyes. “My son will not want you. He grieves for Flaming Hair.”

“I will help him forget the white-face woman,” Red Bird said, tossing her dark hair and facing the older woman with less arrogance now that she realized Sun Woman was a force to be reckoned with.

Sun Woman considered the Piegan woman’s words for a moment. She didn’t like Red Bird, but perhaps the woman could bring her son peace of mind. He was in torment over Joanna’s death. If this woman could bring him a few hours of forgetfulness, she would not object.

“Perhaps if Windhawk finds you in his lodge when he wakes, he will not send you away,” Sun Woman said thoughtfully. “Go inside and wait.”

Red Bird smiled at Windhawk’s mother. If she could win the mother’s respect, it might help her win the son over to her side.

When she reentered the lodge, her eyes were fever-bright. She lit the cook-fire, thinking she would first console Windhawk with a good meal, and then…then she would allow him to take her to his mat. Red Bird felt her body tremble excitedly when she looked at Windhawk. Never had she seen a man whose body was so magnificently proportioned! His face was so handsome she drew in her breath, wishing she dared touch him. She must have him—there would be no one to stand in her way now that Flaming Hair was dead!