Chase the Wind (14 page)

He camped by the river that night. He found a depression near some trees and soon had a cheery fire going to ward off the cold.

The air was so clear that he felt as if he could hear for miles around.
He briefly wondered what Faith was doing before he fell asleep.
This was the first night they had spent apart since their marriage.
It wasn’t something he wanted to do often.

Faith was very restless that night. She missed Ian’s presence in
the bed. She was unsettled, and the baby was restless, rolling
around inside her every time she thought she was comfortable. “Please, God, keep him safe,” she said again. It had been a litany
in her head ever since she woke up that morning.

Ian awoke the next morning to overcast skies. He hoped the pending storm would stay away at least another day. There was a particular valley he wanted to explore. It would take him all day
and then the next to get home. He had ridden a few hours when
he came to the small rise that overlooked the valley. There was a
stream running through the middle, with land that gently tapered
down. Beyond the stream the land curved out to the southeast, and there was a grove of trees. He could envision a drive leading up to
the house that he would build there, just in front of the trees. The barn would be situated to the left. He rode the gelding down into the small valley and turned him upstream. He wanted to see how
far the stream went, where the game trails were, and check for
Indian signs. This land had belonged to the Sioux, and there were still several tribes around. The horse crunched through the snow,
and Ian scanned the ground for tracks. He hadn’t traveled far when he heard a shot from somewhere up ahead. He pulled his rifle from
its scabbard and kicked the gelding into a run.

He had about given up on finding anything when he came across
an Indian pony standing in a small depression. He slowly approached the horse and managed to catch hold of the tether that dragged the ground, tying it to his own saddle horn. He followed the tracks until he spotted blood in a patch of torn-up ground. He
followed the trail of blood to where it disappeared into some brush.
He dismounted, traded his rifle for his revolver, and cautiously
entered the brush.

He found an Indian, a man about his age, curled under a tree, a rifle in his hands. He was bleeding badly from a wound in his side. He tried to turn his gun on Ian, but didn’t have the strength
to hold it up. Ian held up one hand and slowly holstered his gun with the other. He then lowered himself to his haunches and held
both hands out to the man. The Indian dropped his gun to the
ground. Ian slowly approached the man, who kept his dark eyes
focused on his face.

“Let me see what happened to you.” Ian said in the same sooth
ing tones he would use with his horses.

“I speak English,” the Indian panted. The blood was flowing
quite freely and pooling on the ground.

“Well, that should make things a bit easier,” Ian said with his customary grin. He carefully inspected the wound. The bullet had entered the man’s back and passed through the body, apparently
hitting some blood vessels on the way. “We’ve got to get this bleed
ing stopped.” The Indian just granted in response. Ian whistled,
and the gelding came crashing through the brush, leading the other horse along with him. Ian grabbed his extra shirt out of his saddle
bags and ripped it apart to bind the man’s wound. He padded it
several times in front and back and tied it tightly to put pressure on. When the job was done to his satisfaction he wrapped his
blanket around his patient and leaned him against a tree, then went
about the job of making a camp. The light was beginning to fade,
and he had a feeling the weather was going to turn against him.

“Do you know who shot you?” he asked when he had a fire
going and bacon frying in a pan.

“A coward,” the man replied. They were the first words he had
said since Ian had bandaged his wound.

“Was he white?”

“He was not of my people, nor of yours.”

“An Indian but a different tribe?” Ian asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you think he’s still around?”

The Indian shrugged his shoulders, the brief conversation having
taken most of his strength. The wind began to pick up a bit, and
Ian pulled the collar on his coat up. They were in the middle of a dense thicket of trees and brush. Ian hoped it would be enough to shelter them from the next blast of winter that was bearing down on them. He handed the man some bacon and a cup of coffee. He ate quietly, his eyes never leaving Ian. Ian went to check on the
horses. They seemed content, each one gathering warmth from the other. “If only people could be as smart as animals are sometimes,” Ian thought to himself and pulled his hat down further on his head.
Luckily, he had added an extra blanket to his pack. It was going
to be a long, cold night.

He thought about Faith. She was probably tossing about in the bed right now, complaining about being hot but ready to stick her
ice-cold feet in the small of his back. He smiled at the thought.
With luck, tomorrow, he’d be there with her.

He went back to the fire. The Indian had finished his meal and was sitting with his eyes closed. Ian picked up the tin mug and poured himself a cup of coffee. He leaned back against his saddle
and cradled the cup, letting the small heat warm his hands. The sky above the trees was black as pitch. He wasn’t surprised when
a few flakes of snow floated down and landed on his coat. He was
just glad the heavy brush was keeping out most of the wind.

Ian awoke the next morning wearing a heavy blanket of snow. The
fire had managed to make it through the night, the flames melting the flakes before they had a chance to pile up around it. Ian stood and shook the snow off, stamping and flailing his arms to get the circulation going. The Indian looked as still as death. Ian gently
prodded the man with the toe of his boot. The black eyes flew
open, and then closed again when he saw Ian. Ian crouched down and tentatively checked the bandages. The blood had dried the
padding to his side, but it had not bled through. Ian thought it
best to leave it alone; trying to pull it off might start the bleeding
again.

“I am called Gray Horse.”

Ian couldn’t help smiling. “I’m Ian Duncan.” He extended his
hand. “I think fate brought us together.”

“What do you mean, fate?” The man was curious as he took Ian’s
hand.

“I have a gray horse.” The Indian looked over to where the horses
were standing. “He’s back in St. Jo.”

“I am grateful that your fate has joined our paths. You saved my
life.”

“I was glad to do it.”

“Why are you here?” Gray Horse asked, his arm motioning to
the general area.

“I’m looking for a place to settle, to build a home. I had just
found it when I heard the shot.”

“You have a family?”

“Yes, a wife, and soon a child. How about you?”

“My family was taken last winter by the pox. My wife and my
son.”

“I’m sorry; I have a friend who lost her son to the pox.”

They were both quiet for a moment.

“Where is your home?” Ian finally asked.

“North, half a day’s ride.” Gray Horse weakly tried to stand, and
Ian helped him to his feet. “I owe you a great debt, Ian Duncan.”
His name sounded like music on the Indian’s tongue. “The land
you want is south of here, where the stream cuts through the small
valley?”

“Yes.”

“It is good land.” He handed Ian the blanket.

“Keep it,” Ian said. Gray Horse went to his horse and swung up,
taking a moment to straighten himself, his hand gripping his side
over the bandage.

“I will see you again.” He rode off. Ian watched his passage through the maze of shrubs, and then turned to pack up his own
belongings. It was a two-day ride home, and Faith would be wor
ried. He’d best get started.

Chapter Eight

Faith was frantic by the time Ian got back. The snow had drifted
so deep that he didn’t get home until Friday. He arrived after dark, weak and exhausted but alive. Faith alternated between raging at
him because he had worried her so much and smothering him with
kisses because he was safe. Elizabeth finally sent her waddling off
to the kitchen to fix him a plate, and sent Ian off for a much-needed
bath. Faith was much calmer when Ian came to the table, his hair
slicked back and his jaw freshly shaved. Her eyes had dark circles
under them and seemed huge and colorless in her pale face. Ian
laid
his hand on her cheek.

“I promise I won’t go off again like that,” he told her tenderly.
Faith burst into tears and climbed into his lap, her face buried
against his shoulder. He tried to pull her close, but the baby pressed against him. Elizabeth shook her head and left the kitchen, leaving
him to reap the rewards of his transgressions. He gave Elizabeth a
sheepish grin over Faith’s head as she left.

The next day was better for everyone. Ian shared his story with the
group at the breakfast table and talked on and on about the land he had found. Lynora, the schoolmarm, shuddered in apprehen
sion when he told of ridding Gray Horse. Faith and Elizabeth exchanged worried looks behind Ian’s back as he talked of spending the night in the brush with the injured Indian. He couldn’t say enough about the land he wanted, and couldn’t wait to get to the land office on Monday to stake a claim on it. Faith moved slowly around the kitchen as he talked, her hand pressed against the middle of her back to relieve the cramp she had awakened with. Elizabeth watched her painful movements with a look of concern. Ian noticed Elizabeth’s worry and turned to see what the cause was. About that time, Faith doubled over and wrapped her arms around her stomach. Ian flew out of his chair and had his arms around her in an instant.

“What is it?” he asked as he took her weight upon himself.

“I don’t know, it just hurts,” Faith gasped.

“Elizabeth, it’s too soon. What is it?” Ian asked, panic-stricken.

“We’d better send for the doc,” Elizabeth said. Lynora grabbed her coat and was out the door, her eyes wide in her head. “Let’s get her up to your room.”

Faith doubled over in pain again, and Ian scooped her up in his arms and carried her up to their room. He kicked the door open and deposited Faith on the freshly made-up bed. She clutched his arm as the pain rolled over her.

“Ian, it’s not time. It’s too soon,” she cried.

“Hush, darling, it will be all right. We’ve sent for the doctor.” Ian pulled her close and smoothed her hair. Elizabeth came around on the other side of the bed and picked up Faith’s hand.

“Where is the pain, Faith?”

“My back.” Faith motioned around her extended belly. “Here, Oh—” Another wave of pain came over her. Elizabeth looked at Ian over Faith, whose whole body was tensed with pain, and shook her head. The baby was not going to wait another six weeks; it was coming now.

“We need to get her undressed.” Elizabeth jumped into action. Ian started to undo the back of Faith’s dress, which he had just helped her button before breakfast. Elizabeth drew off Faith’s shoes and stockings and stood ready with a nightgown to pull over her head as soon as Ian had removed the dress. Faith bore their attentions bravely, grabbing on to Ian’s arm as each wave of pain came over her. Ian lifted her off the bed, and Elizabeth pulled back the covers and placed an old blanket on top of the sheets. They heard
the doctor and Lynora come clattering up the stairs as Ian was
putting her down on the bed.

“I hear this baby is in a rush to arrive,” the doctor said as he came into the room. He took Faith’s hand and patted it reassur
ingly. “How far along are you?”

“Almost eight months,” Faith gasped. “Is it too soon?”

“Hard to say. It looks like he’s pretty well grown already.” The
doctor moved his hands over Faith’s abdomen, and then bent to pull up her gown. “We need to have a look-see,” he said to Ian, who nodded, his usually bronzed complexion pale. Faith sucked in her breath as the man poked and prodded. “Yes, ma’am, this
baby is coming,” he announced. “And he’s coming now.”

“Lynora, go fix a kettle of water,” Elizabeth commanded. “Then
bring up those old towels in the washroom. Ian, you’d best go
down and wait.”