Savage Arrow (12 page)

She drew rein and watched as one of the warriors came up to her. He slowly circled her, then stopped right beside her.

“Why are you here?” he asked in English, his voice filled with a coldness that frightened Jessie. Had she been foolish to hope that she would be welcomed here? Was this even Thunder Horse’s village?

“I am looking for Chief Thunder Horse,” Jessie said, her throat dry, not only from thirst and hunger, but also fear.

“And why are you looking for my chief?” the warrior Two Stones asked, his eyes filled with suspicion.

A relief that Jessie had never felt before washed through her when she learned that she had found Thunder Horse’s village. Surely once he knew that she had come, all would be well. She would be greeted in a friendly way, and allowed to stay until she got her life sorted out.

“He knows me,” Jessie said. “I believe he might welcome me into his lodge. Will you please take me to him?”

Two Stones looked over his shoulder at the others, who still sat on their steeds, studying her even more closely.

When they all nodded, indicating it was alright to take Jessie to their chief, the warrior closest to her turned back and nodded.

“Come,” he said to Jessie, as the others lowered their weapons and removed the arrows from their bowstrings.

Finally Jessie felt safe. She hoped she would soon be welcomed by Thunder Horse. There had been an instantaneous connection between them the two times they had spoken. She wasn’t sure what it meant, but only hoped that he had felt it, too.

She rode with the warriors into the village. They stopped in front of a tepee that was larger than all the others, and she knew it must belong to Thunder Horse.

Her pulse raced as she dismounted, then she smiled in pleasure as Thunder Horse emerged from his lodge.

She felt a rush of heat to her cheeks when she saw
his attire, a brief breechclout. His chest was bare, revealing his muscular body, and his hair was long and loose down his powerful back.

“Why have you come?” Thunder Horse asked, folding his arms across his chest.

He forced himself to remember what he had vowed to himself only last night. He had vowed never to think about the woman again, to forget any feelings he had for her.

Yet here she was today!

How could he forget her if she came to him, looking so pretty and sweet, her beautiful, fiery red hair as glorious as a sunset?

Yet there was something about her hair, her attire, that troubled him. Her clothes were wrinkled, her hair seemed somewhat tangled, and her eyes looked weary.

He could not help feeling concerned about her, although duty warned him away from her.

“I . . . I . . . became frightened of Reginald,” Jessie said, her voice breaking. “He is a madman. I . . . left his house. I have come to you to seek shelter until . . . until . . . I can figure out what to do or where to go.”

Thunder Horse saw tears in her eyes, and his heart was moved by what she had said. Still, he could not allow himself to trust any white that easily, not even a lovely woman who only yesterday had saved a Cheyenne child from being trampled.

After all, she was probably the wife of Reginald Vineyard. Reginald could have sent her as a way to trick him.

Reginald could then come to the village and claim
that Thunder Horse had abducted her to achieve vengeance against his enemy. If so, it would be the end of Thunder Horse’s people.

No. He could not allow himself to trust her.

“There is no place for you here,” Thunder Horse said stiffly, everything within him crying out against speaking such harsh words to this woman he would never forget. “Leave. Return to this man. I know he is using you to trick me. I will allow no harm to come to my people.”

“What?” Jessie gasped. “What do you mean—a trick?”

When Thunder Horse didn’t say anything else but instead stood stiffly glaring at her, his arms folded in a stern way across his massive chest, Jessie was stunned. Having believed he was a man of kindness, of courage, of integrity, she was stunned that he would turn her away, a woman in trouble.

Yes, she was white. But she had thought he would look past the color of her skin and see a woman in need . . . a woman alone.

And what on earth was this about a trick? How could Thunder Horse believe that?

She felt beaten now by two men.

She wasn’t about to tell this one that he was wrong, that she was not there to trick him, that she truly was alone in the world with a baby on the way.

He wouldn’t believe her.

Not sure now whom she could turn to, yet too proud to cry in front of Thunder Horse, Jessie gave him a defiant stare. Then with her chin held high, she wheeled
her horse around and rode away from the young chief and his village.

Oh, where could she go? she wondered desperately.

And her fingers. They ached so much. Jade’s medicine had worked, but for only a short time.

First she must find water to soak her hands in, and then she would decide what her next move would be.

She felt, oh, so very, very alone!

Thunder Horse watched Jessie ride away on her white horse until he could no longer see her, then dispiritedly turned and went back inside his lodge. Uneasy about what he had just done, he sat down before his fire and went over again in his mind what had just transpired between himself and the beautiful woman.

Deep down he felt he was wrong to have turned her away. The more he thought about the look in Jessie’s eyes, and the pleading in her voice, the more he thought she might truly be in trouble. If not, she was quite an actress.

He hated to think that he might have sent away a woman in distress.

“Uncle?”

The voice of his nephew Lone Wing broke into Thunder Horse’s thoughts. He looked quickly toward the closed entrance flap.

“
Ho
, nephew,” he said. “What do you want with your uncle?”

“I wish to speak with you,” Lone Wing said. “May I come in and sit with you? May I speak my mind about something?”

Thunder Horse rose to his feet and held the flap aside.

“Enter, nephew,” he said. “You are always welcome in my lodge.”

“
Pila-maye
, thank you,” Lone Wing said, his manner a little awkward.

Thunder Horse saw much in his nephew’s eyes and could guess what he wished to speak about.

The woman.

His nephew had seen the woman’s plight, and believed her words.

“Sit,” Thunder Horse said, gesturing toward the blankets beside the fire.

Lone Wing nodded and sat down with Thunder Horse.

“Speak your mind, nephew,” Thunder Horse said, folding his legs and resting his hands on his knees as he gazed at Lone Wing.

“I heard what transpired between you and the woman,” Lone Wing said, searching his uncle’s black eyes. “I saw much between you, yet even more in the woman’s behavior. My uncle, I listened well to what the woman said. I watched your reaction to it. I believe you said to her what you do not truly feel. You saw, as I did, how frightened she is of Reginald Vineyard.”

“I have thought about all of this, too, yet still fear that she may have come because she is a part of a scheme . . . a trap . . . formed by our enemy to get back at the Sioux
for having caused him many sleepless nights,” Thunder Horse said tightly. “If this is so, and if I took her into our village, all would be lost for our people. That man would come and say crazy things, and he would not come alone. He would bring white authorities to witness it all. And which of us do you think the white authorities would believe? The man whose skin is white.”

“I understand your fear, yet what if it is not so?” Lone Wing said softly. “What if the woman did leave because of her fear of that man, and she is alone now with nowhere to go, or no one to look after her? She is such a frail thing, more frail than any of our women.”

There was a strained silence; then Lone Wing moved to his knees and faced Thunder Horse. “There is more I want to tell you,” he blurted out. “Chieftain uncle, there is another woman, a woman-girl, who is entrapped by that same man. She is his slave and is forced to sell her body to evil men. I have watched her. I have seen her misery and shame. One day I waited outside her back door, and when she came out to throw water from the door, I spoke to her. She was not afraid of me. She talked. She told me things that made my heart turn cold.”

“You say this woman-girl belongs to Reginald Vineyard?” Thunder Horse said. “And . . . how would you know this? Where did you see her? Which house? Why did you chance talking with her?”

“You are aware of the houses in Tombstone that men call cribs, are you not?” Lone Wing said guardedly, afraid that his uncle would scold him once he heard the entire story.

But he felt he had no choice but to tell the whole
truth. It was a way to prove that Jessie was not lying.

“
Ho
, all are aware of those evil places,” Thunder Horse said, taken aback that his young nephew should know of such things.

“The girl-woman lives in one of those houses,” Lone Wing said. He saw his uncle’s eyes narrowing, which meant that he was fighting back anger.

But Lone Wing had begun this. He had to finish it.

“And she is not white, chieftain uncle,” he said. “She is Chinese.”

“Lone Wing, I know of those women. They
are
owned by whites. Are you saying that this Chinese girl-woman is owned by Reginald Vineyard?”

Lone Wing nodded, then said, “She and other women are owned by that evil man, and forced to display themselves in those windows of the cribs. Men watch and choose which one they wish to be with, then pay for some time alone with the woman. This man, who pretends with whites to be godly, is a man who owns women in order to make money with them.”

Thunder Horse was not really surprised to discover that Reginald Vineyard was involved in such immoral practices. He had already proved to be a man who was evil through and through.

But it stunned him to know that his young nephew had mingled with whites and gazed at the women who stood in the windows of the cribs begging for men’s money.

“Why did this girl-woman trust you so much that she told you things that could get her in trouble?” Thunder Horse asked.

“She felt safe confiding in me because I am Indian,
a people who are also mistreated by
wasichus
,” Lone Wing said softly. “I could tell that she was happy to have me to talk with . . . to confide in.”

He swallowed hard and lowered his eyes, then met Thunder Horse’s gaze again. “And who could not look at Lee-Lee? She is so pretty. She is a sweet, soft-spoken person,” he said, his voice breaking. “I . . . I . . . explained to her my own feelings about Reginald Vineyard and how that man had wronged our Sioux people. A sudden bond was made between me and Lee-Lee that day. I hope that somehow we can release her from that place she hates.”

He paused, then said, “Surely Lee-Lee’s need to escape is the true reason she confided in me. But now it has gone much farther than that. I care. She cares. And she is being terribly wronged by that man, as I am certain Jessie was also wronged.”

“And now I have wronged Jessie, too,” Thunder Horse said thickly.

He kneaded his brow as he gazed into the fire. Then he looked over at Lone Wing.

“Nephew, you risked much by talking to the girl-woman called Lee-Lee,” he said sternly. “If Reginald Vineyard had come and seen you with Lee-Lee, it could only have brought trouble to our people.”

“I will be more careful, but please, for now, reconsider your decision to send the white woman away,” Lone Wing pleaded. “Surely Reginald will find her wandering alone and place her in a crib, for he is the sort who would impose terrible punishments on those who cross him. Chieftain uncle, I truly believe that
Jessie was telling you the truth about fleeing that man’s house, and why.”

“My nephew, you speak with the voice of a man today. Yes, I will go for Jessie,” Thunder Horse said, rising to his feet. “I will bring her back, but much care must be made to keep Reginald Vineyard from finding out. Also, we must make certain that no white eyes learn she is here. I have promised the white chief in Washington that there will be peace between our people and the white community in exchange for allowing our Fox band to remain in this village until the day of my father’s interment. I do not go back on my promises.”

“What about beautiful, sweet Lee-Lee?” Lone Wing blurted out as he stood beside his uncle.

Thunder Horse placed a gentle hand on his nephew’s bare shoulder. “I do not know what to think about your insistence on saving this Chinese girl-woman, nor your recklessness in meeting and speaking with her. You have a planned future among our people,” he said sternly. “Your future is mapped out for you. There is no place for this girl-woman in it.”

Yet even as Thunder Horse spoke, he wondered if it was truly recklessness on his nephew’s part. Was not pure kindness behind everything Lone Wing did? Was not that the sort of young brave that Thunder Horse had trained him to be?

“Nephew, we must work out one problem at a time,” Thunder Horse said, lowering his hand to his side. “For now, the white woman is in more peril than the Chinese. Hopefully, in time, we can find a way to help Lee-Lee, too.”

Lone Wing gave Thunder Horse a hard embrace, then stepped away from him and gazed up into his eyes. “Chieftain uncle, may I go with you today as you go for the woman?” he asked, his eyes pleading.

“Lone Wing, you have much to study today in order to prepare yourself to be our people’s Historian,” he said. He nodded toward the entrance flap. “Go. Do your duties. I shall do mine.”

Lone Wing nodded, then walked from the tepee with his uncle. He went with Thunder Horse to his corral as he led his horse from it, then watched Thunder Horse ride away at a hard gallop.

He smiled, for he knew that he had accomplished much today. Someday, Lee-Lee would be a part of his people’s lives, for he would not give up on finding a way to bring her to his people’s village.

Although he was a young brave, he had the ideals and thoughts of a warrior . . . of a man.