Under A Prairie Moon (22 page)

“We’ve already changed it.”

“I know, but I don’t think we’ve tampered with anything that has historical implications. I mean, we haven’t killed anyone who might have saved the world, or anything like that.”

Dalton nodded, his expression thoughtful.

“Get some rest, okay?”

He nodded again, but sleep was a long time coming.

Kathy bolted upright in bed, not certain what it was that had awakened her. And then she heard it again, a sound like Fourth of July firecrackers.

Dalton stirred beside her. A moment later, he was struggling to his feet.

“Where are you going?”

“We’re being attacked.”

“Attacked!” Kathy exclaimed.

“That’s gunfire.”

Kathy scrambled to her feet, her heart pounding wildly. “But who? Why?”

“I don’t know.” He dressed quickly in clout and moccasins. “Stay here.”

“You’re not going out there?”

“Damn right.” He picked up his gunbelt, checked to make sure the Colt was loaded.

“Dalton, don’t go.”

“What do you want me to do, Kathy? Hide in here while my people are fighting for their lives?”

“But you haven’t recovered from your wounds yet.” It had been three weeks since he was attacked by the Crow, and though he had regained a good deal of his strength, he was still not fully recovered.

“I’ll be all right.” He slid one arm around her waist and kissed her, hard. “I love you.” He picked up his rifle and thrust it into her hand. “Use it if you have to,” he said, and then he was gone.

She put the rifle down long enough to pull on her dress and moccasins. Whether the Indians won or lost, she intended to be fully dressed when the battle was over.

She stared at the rifle with distaste; then, with a sigh, she picked it up and walked to the doorway.

The sound of gunfire had increased. She heard a woman scream, the frightened cry of a child. The ground seemed to shake as the cavalry rode through the village. She caught the scent of smoke and dust.

Lifting the flap, she peered outside. It was like a scene from every old Western she had ever seen. Women ran everywhere, seeking shelter for themselves and their children. Men in blue uniforms rode through the village, firing at anything that moved.

A thick layer of dust and gunsmoke hung in the air, burning her nostrils, stinging her eyes.

She gasped as she saw Okute and a soldier struggling over a knife. They fell to the ground, rolling back and forth. Okute grabbed a rock and struck the soldier over the head and the man fell back, unconscious. Okute took a deep breath, then stood up and started to hurry toward his lodge, which was in flames. It was then that Kathy saw a soldier aiming his gun at Okute’s back.

Hardly aware of what she was doing, Kathy lifted her rifle, aimed and fired. The recoil practically knocked her off her feet. When the smoke cleared, the soldier lay sprawled on the ground, blood oozing from a hole in his back. Okute paused to glance over his shoulder and his gaze met Kathy’s. He smiled at her, then turned and disappeared into the swirling dust.

Kathy stared at the body lying in front of her lodge. She had killed a man. She looked at the other bodies lying in the dirt, horror washing through her. These were people she had talked with, laughed with, people who had brought them food and blankets.

She had killed a man. She thought of all the spiders she had carried outside because she couldn’t bear to kill them, the fish she had caught and thrown back, the baby bird she had saved from a cat. She despised the thought of taking a life, yet she had killed a man.

Feeling sick to her stomach, she dropped the rifle. “Dalton.” She whispered his name, praying that he was all right. She needed him, needed his arms around her, needed to hear his voice telling her she had done the right thing.

The battle seemed to go on for hours, but it was over in far less time. There was a sudden, ominous silence, the sound of a bugle, a voice giving orders.

As the dust settled, she saw the cavalry herd a small group of men and women toward the center of the village. Eyes straining, she searched for Dalton, but he was not among them. Neither was Okute or his wives.

With a cry, she bolted from the lodge, and into the arms of a tall man in Army blue.

“Whoa, there, ma’am,” he said, his hands gripping her arms to steady her. “No need to be afraid. It’s over.”

She stared at him blankly.

He smiled reassuringly. “It’s all right now,” he said. “We’ve come to take you home.”

“Home?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Dalton…my…my husband. I have to find him.”

“I’ll help you, ma’am.”

“Thank you.”

Side by side, they walked through the village. There were bodies everywhere. Soldiers moved among the dead, covering their comrades with blankets. She saw other soldiers looting the lodges, taking blankets and weapons and furs. In the distance, she saw several soldiers rounding up the horses.

She saw a soldier bending over a body, removing the eagle feather from the warrior’s hair. The warrior moved, and the soldier plunged a knife into his back.

She turned away, retching. And then she saw Dalton. He was lying near a dead soldier. With a cry, she ran toward him.

Dropping to her knees, she ran her hands over him, relieved that, except for a deep gash along his left temple, he seemed unhurt. “Is this your husband, ma’am?”

“Yes. Please, he needs medical attention.” She ripped the kerchief from the dead soldier and pressed it to Dalton’s head to stop the bleeding. So much blood. Why did head wounds always bleed so much?

“I’ll see what I can do, ma’am,” the soldier said.

“Dalton? Dalton!”

Slowly, his eyelids fluttered open. “Kathy?”

“Yes. Don’t talk. Just rest.”

“Star Chaser. I must see him.”

Kathy shook her head. “He’s…he was killed.”

With a groan, Dalton closed his eyes.

“Dalton?”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine. The soldiers think I’m a prisoner.”

“Good. Let them go on thinking that.”

“I told them you were my husband.”

Dalton nodded. Had he been alone, he would have taken his place with his people, met whatever Fate had in store for them, but he had Kathy to think of now. He couldn’t leave her.

A short time later, the Army doctor arrived. He quickly examined Dalton’s injury, washed and bandaged his head wound, pronounced him lucky to be alive and admonished him to rest until they were ready to leave.

The soldier who had assisted Kathy returned with a canteen. He offered her and Dalton a drink, informing them that they would be pulling out within the hour.

Kathy stared at the small group of Indians huddled together, then looked at Dalton. “Are they the only ones left?”

“No. The ones who managed to get away are hiding out down by the river. Okute got Yellow Grass Woman and her sister away just in time.”

At the mention of Okute’s name, the horror of what she had done returned.

“Kathy, what’s wrong?”

“Oh Dalton, I killed a man.”

“What?”

She nodded, her eyes filling with tears. “Okute…and a soldier…they were, they were fighting…and…and…I shot him.”

She began to cry as the full horror of what she had done returned.

Ignoring the dizziness that swept through him, Dalton sat up and cradled Kathy in his arms. “It’s all right, darlin’,” he murmured. “You saved my cousin’s life.”

Somehow, that didn’t help. True, she had saved one life, but she had taken the life of a man who might have lived if she hadn’t interfered. And what of the life she had saved? What if Okute had been meant to die? What if changing the past meant she could never return to her own time?

She felt sick to her stomach; her head began to throb.

“Kathy, you did what you had to do.” He stroked her hair. “Try not to think about it.”

“I can’t help it. I feel awful.”

“Yeah, I know.” He rocked her in his arms. It was never easy, taking a life.

“How did you live with the guilt?”

“It was me or them.” He brushed a kiss over her cheek. “I’m grateful to you for what you did.”

She clung to that thought. She had saved Okute’s life. He was part of Dalton’s family and therefore part of hers as well. She thought of the kindness of Yellow Grass Woman and Dancing Cloud, and knew she would have felt worse if she had let Okute be killed.

Dalton’s arms tightened around her. “Damn!”

“What’s wrong?”

“They’re burning the village.”

Sniffing back her tears, Kathy looked over Dalton’s shoulder. Thick black smoke choked the air, causing the horses to stir restlessly. A high keening wail rose from the women as they watched their homes burn. The men stared straight ahead, their faces impassive. The children huddled against their mothers, their dark eyes wide and scared.

A short while later, a freckle-faced private approached them leading two horses. “We’re ready to pull out.” He looked at Dalton. “Can you ride, mister, or do you need a litter?”

“I can ride.”

“My horse,” Kathy said. “Where’s Taffy Girl?”

“I couldn’t say, ma’am,” the soldier replied.

“I want my own horse.”

“I’m afraid the herd’s already moved out,” the soldier said apologetically. “I’m sure you’ll be able to look for your horse when we make camp for the night.”

“But…”

“Let it go, darlin’,” Dalton said quietly. He helped Kathy to her feet, held the horse’s bridle while she mounted, then handed her the reins.

Taking up the reins of the second horse, Dalton took a deep breath, then climbed slowly into the saddle. Though the wounds he had received from the Crow were almost healed, his head throbbed and he ached from head to foot, but as he looked out over the village, his own discomfort seemed minor. The bodies of men and women he had known since childhood lay sprawled on the ground, eyes blank and staring. He felt a surge of anger as he thought of them being left unburied, prey to wolves and vultures. When a warrior was killed, custom demanded that he be buried in his finest attire, with an eagle feather in his hair and his face painted. His weapons and his flute were placed alongside his body, and then his body was wrapped in a robe. His loved ones would slash their flesh and cut their hair to show their grief.

He drew his gaze from the carnage as the order to mount was given and the cavalry moved out, herding the captured Indians ahead of them.

Dalton watched them with a sharp sense of guilt. He should not be riding with the enemy, but riding with his people. He caught Okute’s eye. There was no accusation in his cousin’s expression, only understanding.

They rode all that day, stopping only briefly to rest the horses and allow both solders and prisoners time to relieve themselves.

At dusk, the soldiers made camp near a shallow water hole.

The prisoners were in a group, under heavy guard.

“Can we go look for Taffy Girl now?” Kathy asked.

“Sure, come on.”

No one stopped them as they walked through the camp toward the horse herd. Dalton whistled softly, and a few minutes later, his stallion trotted up. Taffy Girl followed close behind.

“Is she all right?” Kathy asked.

Dalton ran an expert eye over both horses, then nodded. “She’s fine. They both are.”

Kathy ran her hands over Taffy Girl’s neck, surprised at how quickly she had become attached to the mare. Maybe it was because, except for a couple of goldfish and a cat, she had never had any pets to speak of. Or maybe it was because Dalton had chosen the horse for her.

“Let’s go,” Dalton said.

“All right. Are you okay?”

“Fine. Just a little tired.”

The Army doctor fell into step beside them a few minutes later. “I need to check those wounds,” he said.

“I’m fine.”

“Maybe, but I need to take a look just the same. My tent’s over here.”

Kathy stood near the doorway while the doctor examined Dalton’s injuries. “Everything seems to be healing up just fine,” the doctor said. “How do you feel? Any dizziness, blurred vision?”

“No.”

With a nod, the doctor spread a thick coat of salve to the wound in Dalton’s temple, then applied a fresh bandage. “Like I said, you’re a lucky man.”

“Yeah. Thanks, doc.”

“Here.” The sawbones plucked a shirt from his saddlebags and handed it to Dalton.

“Thanks.”

“Sure. I’ll see if I can’t find you a pair of boots.”

“Obliged, doc.”

“Just take care of yourself.”

Dalton and Kathy spread their bedrolls apart from everyone else. One of the soldiers brought them a plate of jerky and hardtack and dried apples, and two tin cups of strong black coffee.

Kathy grimaced at the rough fare. Even the Indians ate better than this.

“What will happen to them?” she asked. “To Okute, and the others?”

“They’ll be taken to the reservation.”

“That won’t be so bad, will it?”

Dalton looked at her, his eyes hot with suppressed anger. “I suppose that depends on what you call bad.”