The Coming Storm (21 page)

It was on the second day of the desperate winter cold that Cole heard a great deal of whooping and hollering. The children were calling out, from what Cole could understand, that the warriors had returned with the winter provisions.

He knelt at the entrance of the tepee, hoping to avoid being seen, praying that this change would not bode ill for him. He saw the women rush out to greet their men, to boast at the catches of at least two dozen elk and half as many buffalo. The village came to life with an attitude of celebration and victory.

The old men came forward to greet the younger men, speaking in words too low for Cole to understand.

Without warning, someone grabbed Cole by the heavy buffalo robe he was wearing and threw him to the ground. It was a young warrior, probably no older than sixteen or seventeen. The boy’s eyes shone black with hatred. He called to his friends, and before Cole could even cry for help, he found himself being beaten by the collection of young men.

“Stop!” a voice called out in English. Then in Blackfoot the man added, “
Kai yiwahts?
” Cole recognized the words. They translated, “What troubles you?”

One more kick was delivered to Cole’s ribs, causing him to moan. He feared he might throw up.

The boys explained themselves in rapid-fire Blackfoot. Cole heard one declare him to be the enemy, but the man who’d spoken in English denied this.

“Go to your mother’s house. You’ve disgraced yourself,” the man spoke in English, then repeated in Blackfoot. The warriors hung their heads and turned like punished puppies to head back to the center of camp.

Cole struggled to stand up, pulling the robe with him. He wanted to thank the man, but just then several of the older men appeared. The one who always appeared to be in charge spoke to the younger English-speaking man. The older man produced Cole’s journal—something Cole had figured to be long lost or left behind at the cabin.

The younger man eyed it curiously for several moments, then took it from the other man and opened it. He looked from the journal to Cole. “Does this belong to you?”

“Yes.”

“What is your name?”

“Cole Selby.”

The man’s gaze narrowed. He looked more fierce and his expression aged him. “Where do you come from?”

“I live along the Madison River in the Montana Territory— on a ranch called the Diamond V.”

The man nodded. “We’ll talk later.”

Cole watched the Blackfoot warrior speak momentarily to the older men, then head off across the camp. The warrior had opened his journal again and appeared to be reading it. A feeling of dread came over Cole. What would happen now—now that the younger, more hot-headed men of the tribe had returned?

Was it time to run again? And if so, which way should he go?

The Blackfoot warrior turned the pages of the white man’s journal. He felt he knew the man from his entries. Cole Selby wrote of hard trails and long nights—of cattle stampedes and wagon train sicknesses. But mostly he wrote of how much he missed his woman. His Dianne.

Takes Many Horses closed the journal after reading the final entry. Cole Selby was in a tepee not ten yards away. Dianne’s long-lost man. The man who stood between Takes Many Horses and the woman he loved.

He gritted his teeth. How was it that fate had brought them together? When he’d returned from the hunt, he’d been told that an injured white man was in camp and that he was needed to translate. He’d never dreamed it might be Cole Selby. Yet even as the man had stood after receiving an undeserved beating from the younger men of the camp, Takes Many Horses had known in his heart that this was Dianne’s man. He couldn’t explain why he knew, but he did.

When he first looked into the eyes of the white man, he saw the man’s pain and suffering, but he also saw his determination and fighting spirit. This man had something more to live for than himself. His love and passion for Dianne had kept him alive.

But now Takes Many Horses had this man’s life in his hands.

If he went back to the council of elders and lied, telling them the journal revealed the man’s hatred for the Blackfoot and his plans for killing them, then no doubt Cole would be murdered.

With Cole out of the way, Takes Many Horses would be free to return to the ranch, tell Dianne he’d learned the fate of her fiance,
and then perhaps work himself into a position of being the comfort she needed to live beyond her loss.

“He speaks of his love for Dianne as being second only to his love for God,” Takes Many Horses muttered.
But how could he put her second to anyone or anything? She is beautiful and strong. She is worth everything and anything a man might own.

“She would never be second to me,” Takes Many Horses said, casting the journal aside. The book fell to the side of his pallet and for several minutes, he could only stare at it.

I have the power to make things the way I would have them be,
he thought.
I can remove Cole Selby out of her life forever. I have the ability to make this decision and free her once and for all
.

Takes Many Horses imagined the moment he would tell Dianne of Cole’s death. He could see her tears and sorrow. She would be silent, he thought. She would weep silently and be strong as he explained how Cole bravely died. Then she would take herself away and mourn for him in private.

Then he thought of the life Dianne had offered him.
I could live as a white man. I could live as my father did—as Bram did. They were good men, men to be honored. I could live as they did. I have the ability to change my entire future,
he thought. The idea wasn’t entirely unappealing. After all, he clearly saw that the life of the Pikuni would soon be altered by the increasing interference of the white man. Men like Cole Selby.

“That’s why so many have died,” Takes Many Horses muttered, reaching over to retrieve Cole’s journal. He could die.

Cole Selby was only words away from death.

“Dianne is strong; she could survive the loss. She could live with his death,” Takes Many Horses said, still staring at the book.

“But could I?”

CHAPTER 16

C
OLE WATCHED THE
B
LACKFOOT MEN SEATED ACROSS FROM
him. He’d been called to the lodge of the tribal leader. Here he sat with five Blackfoot men, obvious leaders with the power to determine his future. The one who spoke English sat opposite Cole and seemed to watch him with intense interest.

Cole was offered
nitapi waksin
—“real food,” or meat. There was a variety, including a succulent slice of buffalo tongue and a large portion of roasted elk. After they filled up on meat, they passed the
kistapi waksin
—the “nothing foods,” which as far as Cole could figure, was anything that wasn’t meat. When they’d finished eating, the old man who sat in the center prepared and lit a pipe. A lean younger man who sat next to the old man took the pipe and inhaled. He spoke solemnly after blowing smoke toward the roof of the tepee.

“Oh, Above People, hear us now.”

Cole made the words out and wondered at what sounded like a prayer.

“Help us to make good choices. Help us, World Maker, to open our eyes. Pity us.” He took another long draw from the pipe and passed it down the row to be smoked from east to west.

When they had finished, the old man cleaned out the bowl and put it to one side. Then he turned to his English translator, and they began to question Cole.

“Where were you when you were attacked?”

“We were west of Fort Fetterman, camped on Sage Creek,” Cole said, trying his best to remember. “I don’t remember much of anything except that a party of Sioux had been following us for several days.” He shrugged and added, “We thought they’d lose interest when we camped at the fort, but they continued following us when we moved out. I think we were only a day out—maybe two, I can’t remember. They attacked at first light, and before I knew it I had two arrows in my chest. I don’t remember what happened next. When I finally woke up, I was being dragged behind a horse on a travois.”

The man translated for the elders. Cole watched the play of expression on the faces of the leaders as the story was relayed. The Blackfoot men were dressed in what looked to be their finest clothes. Some of their shirts were beaded and others bore weasel tails. Cole knew from stories he’d heard on the Diamond V that these were special shirts of some importance. Apparently their meeting with him was seen as an event of great significance.

The men stopped talking amongst themselves, and then the interpreter turned to question Cole again. “Where were the Sioux taking you? Did they tell you why they had taken you with them?”

Cole shook his head. He remembered vaguely that there had been other whites with him in the Sioux village. “I don’t know why they took us; it came as a surprise to me. Their care wasn’t as good as I’ve received here, but it wasn’t all that bad. They fed me and tended my wounds. The other whites died. I don’t know if they were killed by the Sioux or if they died from their wounds, but I felt that I had to escape.”

“Where were you when you left their camp?”

Cole shook his head. “I have no idea. We traveled north for some time—at least I think we did. We were camped along a river that ran east and west. There were mountains to the west. That’s really all I know.”

The warrior relayed the information and a great discussion broke out amongst the men. Cole watched and waited, hoping that God would deliver him—praying the Blackfoot would find no fault with him.

Again the conversation waned and the man with shiny black braids turned again to Cole. “Were they making plans for war?”

Cole tried to think of any indication that would suggest such a thing. “I don’t think so. There were many women and children— old people too. They seemed more interested in surviving and continuing to move north. I didn’t see anything to indicate they were doing anything other than that. They weren’t digging in or preparing to fight there.”

“But they allowed you to escape,” the man replied. “We found their empty camp. They moved out quickly, which was why they didn’t come after you.”

“Where are we?” Cole braved the question.

“In the territory you call Montana.”

Cole perked up. At least he was in the right area. “I desire to go home. My home is on the Madison River in the southwestern region of this territory.”

The man eyed him hard for a moment. Cole returned his gaze, wondering what the man was thinking. There was no time to ask, however, as a young boy came into the lodge, shouting. Cole understood enough of the boy’s excited declaration to know that soldiers were on their way. And their numbers were great.

Dianne dealt with another Christmas coming and going without Cole by her side. It was hard to maintain hope that he might still be alive.
So much time has passed—so many attacks have taken place. I have to be reasonable
. But she didn’t feel reasonable.

The holidays had been particularly difficult with Bram’s death so fresh in their minds and hearts. The family had gathered, along with the friends who now lived on the Diamond V, but the celebration held a touch of sorrow as they exchanged their gifts and talked of the new year to come. In the weeks that passed, a gloom seemed to settle over the house and a spirit of despair seemed to touch everyone.