Black Horse (15 page)

The distance Meadow walked to the corral was only several hundred yards, but it seemed like a mile. She held her breath most of the way and did not look anywhere other than straight at the corral. When she had reached the corral gate, she finally allowed herself to exhale heavily as she glanced around. She was surprised—and relieved—that no one was guarding the horses. As she entered through the gate, she grabbed one of the halters that was hanging over the top rail. There were saddles lined up along one wall, but Meadow had never ridden a horse with a saddle, and so she didn’t give them a second glance.

She wasted no time in picking out the horse she
would use to make her getaway. The stallion was a large dark brown chestnut that in some ways reminded her of Dusya. Black Horse had introduced her to the spirited horse during their courtship. She just hoped this stallion did not have the same bad temperament as Black Horse’s prized mount. The moment she walked up to the big horse, it was evident that he was much more mild mannered.

“Whoa, boy,” Meadow whispered in Sioux as she held out her hand and gently touched the horse’s neck. He whinnied softly, but did not back away. Encouraged by his meek demeanor, Meadow immediately draped the halter over his head and secured the buckle. She led him out of the corral and shut the gate behind her. The horse did not flinch, even when she pulled herself up onto his bare back.

Once they were away from the corral, Meadow pressed her knees into the horse’s sides to increase his stride. She did not want him to break into a run yet, but she didn’t want to waste time with a leisurely gait, either. The little boy glanced up curiously at her as she rode past him, but his puppy diverted his attention away from her almost immediately.

As she reached the exit, Meadow glanced up at the guard. He was either asleep or in such deep concentration that he was oblivious to everything around him. His back was to the gate, and his head was tilted down with his chin resting on his chest. When he never even turned around as she rode the horse through the gate, her first instinct was to kick the horse in the sides and gallop off in a cloud of dust. But, since she had not drawn the guard’s attention yet, there was no need to tempt her luck. In the clothes she was wear
ing, she knew she would look like any other soldier once she was far enough away. She loosed the reins slightly and let the horse pick up his step until he was moving at an easy trot. She wished she could take off the wide-brimmed hat and let the wind blow through her hair, but mostly she wished that she could give an Indian war whoop in celebration of her freedom that would be heard across the land. For now, she was just content to see the cover of the forest growing closer with every frantic beat of her heart.

Meadow did not stop riding until the last of the daylight was completely gone and her horse was beginning to stumble over fallen branches and rocks. Even with her fear of the dark forest, she was filled with a sense of freedom and excitement. She could not wait to see her father and Black Horse, and Gentle Water and her grandmother, and everyone else in the Sioux village that she had known for her entire life. Surely, Meadow told herself, they will all know now—after all that she had gone through in the past couple of weeks—that she was completely devoted to the Sioux.

As the long night progressed, the temperature continued to drop until Meadow was sure she was going to freeze to death. She was grateful now for the heavy coat, but it did not even begin to ward off the bone-chilling cold. With the horse tied securely to a clump of branches, Meadow huddled against the rough base of a large pine tree. In an effort to keep warm, she drew her legs up against her body and buried her face into the collar of the coat. Meadow remained in this position for most of the night and only dozed off for a few minutes at a time.

She was worried that the horse would break free, that wild animals would attack them—or worse, that she would encounter the Blackfoot again. A couple of
times she heard wolves howling in the distance. The horse would whinny and fidget at the end of his rope every time there was any sort of noise, which only served to increase Meadow’s fear and uneasiness.

When there were enough stars overhead, Meadow stepped out from under the tree and looked for the star that her father had taught her to follow if she was ever lost. An endless array of sparkles dotted the nighttime sky, but one glittering orb outshone the others and almost seemed to grow brighter as she gazed up at it. Meadow closed her eyes in relief for a moment. She was sure that she was headed in the direction that would take her back home.

Before it was even light enough for her to ride the horse, Meadow began leading him on foot over the forest debris. She had no doubt that Lieutenant Cornett would be hot on her trail, if he was permitted to come after her. She was not going to give him the chance to catch up with her.

When Meadow came upon the river, she knew that it was proof that she was headed home. She followed the river north. It was midday, and she was finally beginning to relax a bit and was not looking back over her shoulder as often. She tried to stay alert to every noise and movement around her, stopping only when necessary to let her horse drink from the river and to quench her own thirst. In the areas that were too rugged for her to ride close to the river, she was careful not to get any farther away from the water than absolutely necessary. She sighed with relief every time the river came back into view.

At one point, Meadow realized that she was fulfilling one of her lifelong dreams—to ride across the
countryside like a free spirit. She even allowed her long hair to blow loose in the breeze and imagined that she was on a vision quest, and that all of the bad things that had happened in the past few weeks were nothing more than a bad dream. But then reality returned.

As the sunlight began to fade behind the distant horizon to the west, Meadow’s optimism began to fade, too. She had hoped to be back home before darkness fell a second time, but it was growing dark earlier as the winter months approached, and she wondered how much farther she should travel before stopping for another night. The idea of spending the night alone in the freezing forest again filled Meadow with a feeling of despair. She had wanted so much just to hug her father, and then to fall asleep in Black Horse’s arms tonight.

When her horse began to stumble over the fallen logs and low brush, Meadow realized that she would have to stop. She decided to find a tree close to the riverbank to tie up the horse. Then she could sit by the river for a spell and let the gentle flowing sounds soothe her frazzled nerves. Although she was exhausted, she was not ready to attempt sleeping yet. The horse seemed restless, too, not a bit pleased to be tied up again. As Meadow settled herself on a rock at the riverbank, she could hear the horse stomping around and snorting behind her. She wondered if his reluctance to calm down for the night was something that she should worry about. Perhaps he could sense something that she was not aware of…

Finally, the horse quieted, and Meadow’s feeling of doom began to ease. She glanced up at the sky, where
dark clouds had begun to gather before the sunlight had faded completely away. Now, in the black sky overhead, the clouds looked even more ominous, and the moon was almost completely hidden from view. There would be no starlight to night. Meadow wrapped her arms around herself in a tight embrace.

When the sound of the river no longer offered Meadow any comfort, and the rock she was sitting on made her backside start to ache, she decided she’d better find a place to settle in for the night. The clump of trees she had tied the horse to would provide her with a bit of shelter, but if the clouds overhead brought rain, she would be drenched in no time. The nighttime temperature was already frigid.

Carefully, Meadow began making her way back up the riverbank. At the top of the slope, something in the air caught her attention. The smell of smoke—of campfire smoke—penetrated her nostrils and brought back a multitude of memories. She drew in a deep whiff of the air again and had no doubt that the odor was coming from a campfire. It smelled as if something was being cooked over the fire. Her stomach twisted with hunger; the last time she had eaten anything was the midday meal at the fort yesterday.

Meadow’s heart began to pound rapidly. The smoke had to be coming from the Sioux village, because she was certain she had to be close. If darkness had not fallen, she would be there by now, but there was no way she could stay out here another night if there was any chance that she could make it to the village. Meadow glanced in the direction where the horse was tied. Riding would make her journey harder than if she went on foot the rest of the way.

She quickly untied the animal and took the halter from around his head. If he didn’t follow her or find his way to the village right away, she did not want him to get the halter snagged on the branches of a tree. Though he was free, the horse remained rooted to the spot, even after Meadow tried to coax him to tag along behind her.

Since clouds now covered the last of the moonlight, Meadow was forced to feel her way along the edge of the brush that lined the riverbank. With every couple of steps that she took, she stopped to sniff the air to make sure the smell of the smoke was growing stronger, rather than fainter. Her excitement continued to expand as the odor became more noticeable. She was certain that even in the darkness, the area was beginning to seem familiar. Soon she was sure she would be at the same spot on the river where she had first seen Black Horse taking a bath. Then she would also be close to where they had spent their first night together. A shiver of excitement rushed through Meadow as she took another step.

A thunderous roar suddenly cut through clouds in the sky overhead, and an instant later the clouds released a downpour of rain. The thunder frightened Meadow so badly that she cried out in alarm, and before she had even realized the source of the tremendous noise, large raindrops began to pelt against her face without mercy. A few raindrops would not keep her from getting home to night, she told herself as she struggled to feel her way along the brush and trees.

With every step she took, she would try to inch one foot forward first to check for fallen logs and rocks. Just one careless step and she could be flung down the
embankment and into the river. It was raining so hard now that it was difficult for Meadow to keep her eyes open, but the engulfing darkness made it impossible to see anyway. She pulled the big-brimmed hat down over her eyes and moved forward.

The heavy oversize boots she was wearing were becoming caked with mud from the wet, slick ground. She could barely lift her feet. Just as Meadow was about to admit defeat and try to find shelter from the storm, the toe of her boot caught under a large fallen tree trunk.

She felt herself stumble over the log and then attempted to break her fall before she hit the ground. She reached out in the darkness, but her hands scraped against the slick log, and she did not have time to grab on to it before her entire body came crashing down. When her head smacked against the log, she was not even aware of what was happening, because the instant her head hit the fallen tree trunk, all consciousness was stolen from her.

Walks Tall rode Hawk along the muddy riverbank. The sun had just risen, and it was still foggy from the downpour of rain last night. The towering mountain peaks in the distance were topped with snowy white. The snow would soon find its way to the lower ground, and Walks Tall was not looking forward to the cold months ahead. But he was glad that he would be spending the winter here with his sister and her family, instead of running from soldiers and white settlers on the other side of the border, as he and Black Horse had done during the previous winter months.

He sighed heavily and urged Hawk up to the top of
the muddy riverbank. The horse’s hooves sank down several inches into the muck, making it hard for him to lift his legs. When they were finally on flat ground again, Walks Tall pulled on his reins and started to turn him around so that they could head back to the village. He had thought he would go hunting this morning, but thinking about Black Horse made him sad, and now the only thing he wanted to do was go back to his lodge and drown his sorrows in the whiskey he had gotten from a couple of French traders yesterday. The bottle had cost him one of his old bone-handled hunting knives, but to forget about his sorrow for a night or two was worth much more.

Just as Hawk started to turn back toward the village, something red lying in the mud caught Walks Tall’s eye. He pulled hard on the reins and leaned over to the side to get a closer look at whatever it was that was lying beside a large fallen tree. At first, Walks Tall thought that he was looking at nothing more than a discarded piece of red material, but since it was the same color red as the coats the Mounties wore, he decided to investigate further. He urged Hawk to wade through the mud until they were several feet away from the log. Only then did Walks Tall realize that he was looking at a person lying facedown in the mud.

Jumping from his horse’s back, Walks Tall took a couple of careful steps, and then fell down on his knees beside the figure. A sense of dread raced through him when he saw long strands of dirty blonde hair sticking out from beneath the tan hat. He reached out tentatively and rolled the small figure over. Her pale face was nearly obscured by the thick mud, but as Walks Tall stared at her all rational thoughts left his mind. Finally,
he thought to check if she was breathing. He reached out a trembling hand and placed it over her nose and mouth, then exhaled a relieved sigh when he felt the faint feeling of warmth coming from her parted lips.

As his startled gaze traveled down Meadow’s limp form, he noticed that she was wearing a complete Mountie’s uniform. His mind could not even begin to comprehend how she had ended up here, wearing this outfit—especially since they had believed her to be with the Blackfoot all this time. He could not allow himself the time right now, however, to ponder over this strange turn of events. She was hurt, and not knowing the extent of her injuries, Walks Tall knew he had to get her back to the village, if there was any hope of saving her.

As he carefully slid his arm under her neck to raise her up from the wet ground, her hat tumbled from her head, revealing a deep, bloody gash across her forehead. A matted tangle of her hair was clumped against the wound and a fresh trickle of red oozed among the mud-caked strands of hair. A sense of panic tightened the muscles in Walks Tall’s chest. He slid his other arm under Meadow’s knees and pulled her up with him as he rose to his feet. The cold, frozen mud held her in a deadly grip and made an odd sucking sound as it released its hold on her body.

Very few tribe members were wandering around outside of their tepees on this cold damp morning, but Walks Tall immediately attracted the attention of everyone who was outside when he entered the village. When he spotted Sings Like Sparrow coming out of her tepee, he hollered, “Help me! I’ve got Meadow, and she’s hurt!”

His loud announcement brought Gentle Water rushing from the tepee on her grandmother’s heels. “Can she be taken into your tepee?” he asked of Sings Like Sparrow.

The old woman nodded her head and held the door flap open so that he could enter with the injured girl. She followed him in and motioned for the warrior to lay the girl on the closest fur-covered mat.

“It looked like she fell and hit her head on a log,” Walks Tall said. “She was down by the river not far from the village, but that’s all I know.”

Meadow struggled to open her eyes and keep them open. For a moment, the three faces above her were no more than a hazy blur. But, as her vision began to clear, she instinctively whispered, “Father…Black Horse.”

“Your father is not here, and neither is Black Horse,” Sings Like Sparrow said softly. She held out a gourd filled with fresh water. “Drink this, and when you are stronger, we can talk.”

Meadow looked at the trio of people hovering over her. Their faces carried strange expressions she could not decipher, and her mind was still too foggy to make sense of anything that was happening around her. She allowed Sings Like Sparrow to hold the water gourd to her parched lips as she took a sip of the cool water. Even the small movement, however, caused her head to throb unmercifully. She started to reach up to her forehead to touch the spot where the pain originated from, but Gentle Water grabbed her hand.

“You’ve got an ugly cut, but Grandmother will have it fixed up in no time.”

“Wh-what happened?” Meadow questioned.

“I found you down by the river this morning,” Walks Tall said in response to her question. “When you’re up to talking, maybe you can tell us what happened.”

“I can talk now,” Meadow retorted. “Where are my father and Black Horse?”