Savage Tempest (22 page)

“You are white,” he gulped out. “Yet . . . yet . . . you had a role in what happened today? You . . . helped . . . the Indians? You are even dressed like . . . an . . . Indian.”

“Yes, I am dressed like an Indian, and yes, I helped them,” Joylynn said tightly. She saw how those words made him flinch. “But must I remind you where you were going? You were with a group of men who were on the trail of Indians, were you not? You would have helped kill them once you found them, wouldn't you?”

“Yes, it was part of the plan,” he said, then lowered his eyes and began crying. “But it was not out of hatred that I would have done it.”

He looked with desperation up into Joylynn's eyes. “I . . . I . . . joined the cavalry to get money for my mother, to help her put food on her table after the death of my father,” he sobbed out, the tears seeming to be born of true regret. “Then . . . then . . . just before I was told that I had to go with these . . . these . . . soldiers on a search for a band of Indians who were responsible for several soldiers' deaths, I . . . received . . . word that my mother had died. I am now alone in the world. I did not want to be part of this mission, for I have never hated Indians. In fact, I don't understand why the government hates them so much. The
Bible says that all men are created equal. It's in my Bible that I carry with me at all times.”

Joylynn saw a small Bible thrust into one of his back pockets, then again gazed into eyes that were as blue as the sky. His blond hair was worn long, to his shoulders.

“You sound like a religious person,” she said.

“Yes, ma'am, I am,” the young man said, wiping tears from his cheeks with the backs of his hands. “It . . . has . . . always been a dream of mine to be a preacher.”

“What is your name?” Joylynn asked softly, glad that this young man was not among the casualties. She would not allow herself to think that there might have been others killed today who had just been following orders, who hadn't wanted to participate in a massacre of Indians at all.

She had to put such thoughts from her mind. She could not allow her guilt to become unbearable. She had participated in today's attack to assure the survival of a wonderful, peace-loving people who were being hunted down and slain as though they were nothing more than lowly snakes crawling over the ground.

“Ma'am, my name is Andrew,” the young man said. The fear in his eyes had eased, since thus far neither the Indian nor the kind woman seemed to want him dead. “Andrew Roddick, but I am mostly called Andy.”

“Are you hurting badly . . . Andy?” Joylynn asked softly, looking at his bloody wound.

“It does hurt, but I can bear it, ma'am,” Andrew said. “Thank you for askin'.”

“How old are you, Andy?” Joylynn asked.

“Eighteen, ma'am,” Andrew said. “I was the youngest of my troop. Mama didn't like me joinin' up with the cavalry, but I convinced her that the money would be good. I had meant to send her my money as soon as I was paid. She . . . just . . . didn't live long enough to get it.”

Finding his story so sad, Joylynn nodded, then turned to High Hawk. “Can we talk?” she asked, searching his eyes. “Away from the young man?”

High Hawk nodded and stepped away from Andrew with Joylynn. The youth continued to watch them as they put their heads together, talking softly so he would not hear.

“As you suggested earlier, I think it is a good idea to take the young man with us. When he is well enough, he can return to his own life,” Joylynn murmured, her gaze locked with High Hawk's. “I doubt he will have anything to do with the military again. I think that if we give him the chance, he will actively pursue the ministry.”

High Hawk turned and gazed at Andrew, saw the pleading in his eyes as the young man looked back at him, waiting to hear what his fate would be.

“He will have to prove that he is worthy of being
set free,” High Hawk said tightly. “Come. We will tell him what we expect of him and then see how he reacts to our decision.”

Joylynn smiled, then walked back to Andrew with High Hawk.

Both knelt down beside him, one on each side.

“Young man, it is up to you whether or not you will be freed to seek your dream of being a preacher,” High Hawk began. “We will take you to our people. You will travel with us to our new home. In time, if you have proven that you can be trusted, and that you seek only to lead the life of a preacher instead of a soldier, you will be set free.”

“Do you mean . . . you . . . are not going to kill me?” Andrew gulped out, looking quickly from High Hawk to Joylynn. “Even knowing that if we had found your people first, instead of your finding us, we would have massacred them? Even so, you would still give me another chance at life?”

“You say that you want to be a preacher,” Joylynn said, bringing his eyes to her again. “Young man, we will help you get that chance.”

She placed a gentle hand on his cheek, which was rough with a stubble of blond whiskers. “Are we right in trusting you?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Andrew said, his eyes brightening. “I'll not let you down. Honest. I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Joylynn had often used that same term when she
had promised her father something. A smile fluttered across her lips.

The smile was quickly erased when Three Bears rode up to her and High Hawk.

“Mole is not among the dead,” he announced. “I searched the bodies twice. He is not there.”

Panic hit Joylynn in the pit of her stomach.

How could he have escaped again?

She had seen the impact of the bullet as it hit his chest. She had seen him fall to the ground, surely dead.

Could she have been wrong?

Had she so badly wanted the man to be Mole that she'd imagined it was he as she took aim at him?

She looked quickly at Andrew again. “Andrew, was an outlaw called Mole a part of your group?” she asked, searching his eyes. “There were many civilians among the fallen who we know were outlaws. Was the outlaws' leader, a man with many moles on his face, among those who were searching for the Pawnee?”

A perplexed look came into Andrew's eyes. “I didn't know everyone,” he said. “I stayed to myself mostly, reading my Bible. So I just can't say.”

Joylynn didn't know how to take his answer. Was he telling the truth? Yet why wouldn't he?

Oh, surely she couldn't have imagined that the man she'd seen was Mole.

She would never forget his ugly face, his leer, the
emptiness of his eyes, and that cigarillo she'd seen him smoking today before the attack.

“I've got to see for myself,” she said, rushing to her feet.

Breathing hard, her face flushed, she ran from one fallen man to the other, feeling more and more sickened by the blood and gore, but concentrating on only one thing.

Mole!

She had to find the man she'd thought was Mole!

How could she have been mistaken?

After searching each of the bodies and finding none that resembled Mole, she concluded that one of two things had happened.

Either he had survived and was even now fleeing, or . . . it had not been him at all!

Feeling dispirited, she went back to where Andrew sat. High Hawk was caring for his wound. She had not realized that he knew the skills of medicating wounds. Was there anything he could not do?

She knelt beside Andrew as High Hawk covered the wound with a mixture of buffalo fat from the food he carried in his bag and sweet grass he found on the ground. He then sprinkled on the powdered root of the ocotillo plant, which he carried, too, in his bag for such times as these, when he or his men might be injured.

She marveled at this man's knowledge of so many things as he gently wrapped the wound with a small strip of doeskin.

“He is well enough now to travel with us as we return to our people,” High Hawk said.

Seeing Andrew shivering, and uncertain whether it was because of the chill of the late afternoon, or fear, or pain, Joylynn took a blanket from her saddlebag and slid it around the young man's shoulders.

“Thank you, ma'am,” Andrew said softly. “I'm strong enough to ride, even with my leg bandaged. My injury shouldn't get in the way.

“Again, thank you for your kindness,” he added softly.

A part of Joylynn wondered whether this young man might be skilled at duping people, for how could he have not noticed Mole among the outlaws? She could have sworn that Mole had been there, and that she had killed him. But if he'd merely been wounded, he would have had time to escape while she and the others were riding down to the scene of the ambush.

“Gather together what firearms you can carry on your steeds; then we must hurry back onto the mountain and catch up with our people,” High Hawk instructed his warriors. “Hurry. We have a long trip ahead of us before we will be reunited with our loved ones.”

He looked at Joylynn. “Can you ride the night through?” he asked. “I would like to continue until we reach my people.”

“I'll be all right,” Joylynn murmured. She glanced
over at Andrew. “Can you ride the entire night? Are you in too much pain to travel so long?”

“I'm from a farm,” Andrew said proudly. “Before my pa died, I was in the fields with him day and night until crops were planted. At harvest time, we worked long hours, too. Yep, 'cept for my leg, I'm as fit as a fiddle and I can stand pain. I got many a snake bite when I was workin' the fields. I learned to tolerate even that sort of pain in order to stay with Pa until the work was done.”

Hearing that he was raised on a farm made Joylynn feel a strange sort of camaraderie with him, for she had been the son her father had never had, and she worked long hours with her father, as well, during planting and harvesting time.

But she didn't share this tidbit with Andrew, not yet. She wanted to be sure that he was a truthful person, who was not lying to save his neck. She hoped that he was sincere about wanting to be a preacher.

“Bring the young man a horse,” High Hawk shouted at his braves. “But leave the rest. We cannot take horses with us, although I hate to leave a steed behind. But in these circumstances we would be slowed, trying to get them up that narrow pass while keeping ourselves and our horses from sliding to our deaths.”

“Sliding . . . to . . . your deaths?” Andrew gulped out. “Is where we are going to travel so dangerous?”

“Very,” Joylynn murmured. “But if you are being truthful about your belief in God, you don't have anything to fear. He will keep you safe.”

She gave him a lingering gaze. “He allowed you to live today while others died, did He not?” she murmured.

Andrew swallowed hard, nodded, then got up and limped to the horse that was brought to him.

High Hawk helped him into the saddle, then mounted his own steed. “Let us leave this place of death,” he shouted, riding off with Joylynn at his right side.

Andrew soon caught up and rode on High Hawk's other side. With eyes straight ahead, the group rode for the mountain pass they had only a short while ago left behind them.

Joylynn was bone-weary from the long day of riding and fighting. But she had to find the courage and strength to ride for many more hours.

She gazed heavenward and said a silent prayer for strength, and for reassurance that the young man was not lying through his teeth in order to save his hide!

As she rode onward, she again thought about Mole. Could he even now be hiding and watching her, another plan hatching in that evil mind of his?

That thought made her shudder.

A soft breeze whispered through the canyon as High Hawk and Joylynn edged their horses closer to each other while riding into the hidden valley that was to be their home.

Finally they had arrived.

A beautiful stream, its water clear and sparkling, lay just beyond, and a great herd of deer were drinking from it.

Groves of trees were set back from a grassy meadow. Overhead they saw flashes of color as birds flew by, chattering and playing.

Somewhere in the meadow, a field lark sang, high and musical.

And as High Hawk led his people across the lush grass of the meadow, brown flocks of quail rose from it, fluttering away, only to resettle again nearby.

“I have never seen anyplace as beautiful as this,”
Joylynn murmured as she drew rein beside High Hawk. “It truly is a paradise.”

She was aware of the Pawnee people coming in from all sides, stopping to take in the grandeur of their new home.

“Do you hear the whispering of the wind blowing all around us?” High Hawk asked, lifting his chin and inhaling the sweetness of the air. “To me it is the voices of my ancestors saying this is where I will have a son!”

Joylynn's eyes widened just as he turned to her with a wide smile. “A son,” she said, her pulse racing.

Yes.

Ho
.

They would now have time to marry and make that son, as well as many more children they both would adore.

Then her smile waned as she recalled her recent miscarriage. Did that mean she could not carry any child full term?

The thought made her feel sick to her stomach. If she was not able to give High Hawk a son who would one day be chief after him, would he still want her as his wife?

“We will be married soon after the hunt,” High Hawk said, reaching over and taking her hand. “The hunt is necessary to replenish our meat supply. The women must prepare it for use during the long, cold months of winter that lie ahead of us. With the vegetables
each woman has brought from her cache pot, and with fresh meat prepared for storage, there will be enough to sustain us until new crops are planted in the spring.”

He looked over his shoulder where they had left the canyon walls behind, then gazed into Joylynn's eyes again. “Canyon walls can be climbed, but not these,” he said. “These walls and this land belong now solely to the Pawnee.”