White Wind (28 page)

“It’s mine!”

“No, it’s not!”

“I found it, it’s mine.”

“It was lost, so it doesn’t belong to you. I can prove it.”

“No, you can’t.”

“Yes, I…”

Jumping to his feet, Chief Hawk Eyes strode angrily to the flap and bellowed,

“Enough!” All inside saw two youngsters spring apart as they stared into the angry face of their chief.

Making no effort to hide his displeasure, Hawk Eyes ordered the two quibbling girls into the tipi with only the flick of one finger. Together, heads hung with shame upon noticing the important visitors, the girls entered. Their feet dragged as if walking toward their mortal demise.

Golden Eagle watched one of the girls sneak a peek at Hawk Eyes and sigh. Hawk Eyes was very, very angry and Winona knew she was in trouble.

“I will know the cause of your shameful behavior and then you will apologize to our guests,” Hawk Eyes demanded. He held one palm high. When two voices started speaking loudly at once, he silenced them. “Now, daughter of Weeko, you will tell me what this is about.”

Staring at her toes, Spotted Deer asked, “If I find something, it belongs to me, does it not?”

Winona opened her mouth to protest, but Hawk Eyes sent her a warning glance. “That depends on what you find, my child. Does it belong to another?” All watched the child’s face redden with guilt. “If it belongs to another, it must be returned,” Hawk Eyes gently commanded. “Now.”

Golden Eagle stifled the urge to pace. He had no time to sit here and watch his father solve his sister’s problems. He was sure, with all the fuss, that Spotted Deer had something that belonged to Winona.

Winona’s triumphant “I told you so” look did not escape him, and he hid his frustration as his father glared at Winona long and hard. “Remember, daughter, greed is unworthy of the daughter of Hawk Eyes.” As with most parents, formal reprimands were rare. But there were times when his young sister pushed the limits.

“But Father,” Winona interrupted bravely, “Spotted Deer found Sarah’s necklace. As Sarah is gone, I wanted Spotted Deer to give the necklace to me so I could return it when you find Sarah. After all, she is almost my sister,” Winona threw out for Spotted Deer’s benefit.

Springing to his feet, Golden Eagle approached the girls and hunkered down to their level, his heart racing as hope stirred within him. “This necklace you found, Spotted Deer, give it to me.” He held out a trembling hand, and the smooth coolness of the heart-shaped locket and the warmth of the carved eagle was placed on his open palm.

Holding it high for all to see, Golden Eagle closed his eyes in pain. Turning back to the girls, he laid a gentle hand on each shoulder. “It’s all right. No one is angry. I will return this to White Wind. She will be pleased with both of you for finding this for her. Now we must have your help. Where did you find this? Take me there.”

Winona grabbed Spotted Deer’s arm and ran out of the tipi, toward the area where they’d found Sarah’s necklace.

Golden Eagle clutched the leather thong to his heart and ran out after them. The others followed close on his heels, all but one.

White Cloud remained frozen, eyes glazed, unable to move. He sat, unaware of the departure of the others, unaware of the watchful concerned gaze of Seeing Eyes, who sat staring at his shield as if in a trance.

White Cloud’s mind had gone numb with shock. For the second time in less than a week, his past had risen to haunt him. He sat and stared as the glitter of yellow-gold danced in front of his glazed eyes, lurching his mind backward to that other time, that other place, and to the one who had worn that same adornment around her neck.

His pulse quickened, his heart hammered against his rib cage and sweat beaded his head. White Cloud shut his eyes against painful remembrances that flooded his mind and squeezed his heart painfully.

Suddenly, he jumped to his feet and whirled around the tipi. Golden Eagle. Where did he go? He had to find him. He needed to see that golden object up close. Surely, his mind had been playing tricks on him. This was all his daughter’s fault, for she’d been responsible for awakening the demons of his past. His shield fell unheeded to the ground as he stumbled into the bright glare of the sunlight.

Rushing through the deserted village, White Cloud followed the sounds of raised voices. He pushed his way through the crowd watching several warriors who crouched and exclaimed over the discovered white man’s tracks, near the side of the canyon. There, Golden Eagle studied the signs of struggle on the carpet of leaves, rocks and loose dirt.

Pushing through the gathering, White Cloud pulled Golden Eagle to him. “Must see necklace,” White Cloud rasped, his voice hoarse with suppressed emotion and barely audible. “The white girl’s necklace. Give it to me.”

“Chief White Cloud…” Golden Eagle turned as one of the warriors called to him, pointing something out to him.

“Please, son. It’s important.”

With a puzzled look and impatient sigh, Golden Eagle handed over the locket that had been clenched tightly in his fist.

Taking it from the young warrior, White Cloud held the piece of jewelry tenderly, head bent as he intently examined and fingered the time-worn smooth surface. With hands that shook, he fumbled with the catch that would release to reveal two time-faded miniatures he knew he would find hidden within.

Gasping for breath, White cloud stumbled to the nearest fallen log and lowered himself, the locket clutched tightly in his fist. Ignoring the concerned stares of those gathered round, White Cloud had eyes only for Golden Eagle.

“This white captive of yours. My son says she has hair the color of the sun and eyes of the sky. Is this so? Is she old or young? Describe her to me.”

Golden Eagle gestured impatiently. “Chief White Cloud, the one you ask about has been taken by an evil white man. There is no time for talk. Already we have wasted much time. We must go after her before she is harmed. Already the white man has a good lead on us,” Golden Eagle stated unnecessarily, turning away.

White Cloud called out and begged indulgence and understanding. “Please, my son, I must know the answer to these questions. They are very important. Her looks…”

Turning toward Hawk Eyes, Golden Eagle received his father’s silent command to do as told. With suppressed frustration he gave a brief description of Sarah.

At Chief White Cloud’s insistence, desiring to be done with the matter in the quickest way possible, Golden Eagle told all he knew of Sarah, including her parentage and where she lived.

“The name of her Indian father, my son. What is the name of her Indian father? Do you know?”

All stared in surprise at the abrupt change that overcame Chief White Cloud. His voice rang out firm and strong, black eyes shone bright beneath shaggy brows, and he stood proud, hand resting on the hilt of his knife, ready to do battle.

Hawk Eyes frowned and stepped forward to intervene. “We do not know the name of her father, my friend. All we have are a few items made by him and given to her mother,” Hawk Eyes announced, turning as his wife came up behind him.

“Before I left my tribe to join with Hawk Eyes, all young maidens knew of your great skills,” Seeing Eyes said to White Cloud. “You were called Swift Foot then.” Stepping into the circle of confused men, she smiled at an astonished Chief White Cloud.

“I never knew what became of this mighty warrior. It was said his name changed after he’d risked his life to save a small child.” Seeing Eyes gave him a questioning glance.

White Cloud nodded and stared at the items he’d made so long ago, now clutched in her fingers, and painfully related how he’d rescued his firstborn son, Running Wolf, from a rain-swollen river by lashing himself and the child to the limb of a grandfather tree. There they’d hung under clouds so low they’d hidden the branches. Later, when they both were found, his name had become White Cloud.

Seeing confusion on the faces before him, White Cloud told the assembled group how, before he’d joined with Small Bird, the young warrior Swift Foot had sought many vision quests to help guide him in his future responsibilities as chief. In each vision he’d heard a cry, but never knew what or who made the cry. Sharing his concerns with the shaman, he’d been advised to leave his tribe to search for the meaning of these cries. He would marry upon his return.

He recounted how he’d left during the spring to become one with his surroundings, learning and listening to the spirits as they led him where they pleased, waiting for them to reveal the significance of the cry.

One day, while resting on a high ridge, he’d spotted rising smoke from far below. Deciding to investigate the next day, he’d come across a burned wagon. There had been no sign of survivors of the bloody massacre, so he’d left the area.

But late that night, he’d been awakened by the same cry that came to him in his visions. It was a cry of grief and despair. He’d followed the heart-wrenching sobs, and come upon a young white girl who’d managed to hide and survive the fate of her family.

White Cloud’s words were for his son. “Though I had the answer to the cries in my vision, I could not return immediately to my village. I traveled across the land, the white woman at my side. By the end of the summer months I had fallen in love with her, but knew I had no choice but to return to my people and fulfill my duties. I left her where she would be found and taken to safety. Before I left, I gave her this box of wood and necklace.”

“Father, what does all this mean?” Running Wolf asked. “I saw the white captive. She is young, my age, and cannot be the woman you once knew.”

White Cloud looked up from the box and stared into his son’s bewildered expression. His own grew grim as he glanced around him. “It would seem, my son, that you have an older sister and I have two daughters to search for. Come, we ride. Fetch our mounts, Running Wolf. Gather the warriors, Golden Eagle. Much time has been wasted!” Warriors from both tribes ran to their horses at the chief’s command. No one dared point out it was his fault that they’d been delayed in the first place.

Relentlessly, Willy drove his gang onward without rest. Staying close to streams, away from deep ravines where they could become trapped, they rode as if the devil himself were on their tail. For they knew if caught, they would fare much better with the devil than the angry warriors.

During a brief water stop, Sarah lay on the hard ground, hands bound, a ragged cloth tied tightly across her mouth. She lay on her side, curled into a tight ball of pain and misery. Her backside hurt where the old trapper had thrown her to the rocky ground, and her face was swollen and hot where she’d been struck.

Thirsty. She was so thirsty, her lips puffed out, her tongue dry and thick. No one offered her a drink. Sarah listened to her captors as they hurriedly gulped water from the stream and cooled the horses.

Footsteps sounded. Nearer. Unable to move, Sarah waited, knowing from the shuffling Willy was coming. A booted foot caught her rib and shoved her onto her back to rest on numb hands, pulling her shoulders from her sockets. Blinking against the glare of the sun and the shooting pain, Sarah glared at Willy as he towered over her.

“Betcha you’d like some water, huh, missy?” Sarah’s eyes went to the bent and beat-up tin cup in his hands. Willy lowered his bulk and held the cup inches from her bound mouth. “Say please, bitch. Ask real nice and I might give ya some.” Willy’s harsh laughter rang out as Sarah turned her head. Rough hands yanked her head around to face him.

“No, huh. Ah, well. Guess I’ll just have ta drink it.” Willy gulped the liquid, half of it running down his chin to drip onto his shirtfront. Sarah groaned uncontrollably as Willy yanked her to her feet and shoved her toward his horse. Tossing her on top, uncaring that her fringed skirt had ridden high to expose her thighs, Willy jumped into the saddle. His arms became tight shackles as he held her against his chest. The horse surged forward in answer to the sharp kick in its side.

Many long hours later, Sarah leaned her head against the rough bark of the tree she was tied to. All day and far into the night, she’d been force to ride. She was exhausted, hungry and consumed with thirst.

She swallowed a moan, not wanting to draw attention to how much she hurt. Each time Willy called for a halt, he’d dumped her onto the hard ground, laughing and tormenting her until he was ready to go on.

This was the longest stop Willy had allowed. He and the others huddled off by themselves, arguing angrily. Her head spun, her stomach lurched queasily. She was faint from lack of food and water. Closing her eyes in misery, Sarah forced her thoughts elsewhere and allowed images of Golden Eagle to soothe her fears. He would come for her. She had to believe that help was on its way.

She was so lost in thought she nearly screamed when a faint voice whispered in her ear.

“Not worry, Sarah. Wild-Flower follow. Soon others follow my trail. Cannot free you now, but will try to keep you from harm till warriors arrive. Do not speak. Must go.”

All too soon, the voice faded away. Sarah wasn’t even sure that it had been real, that it hadn’t been her imagination. But then she heard the shuffling and opened her eyes. Willy approached, canteen in hand.

Bending down, he let his hate-filled gaze roam over her. He held the canteen in front of her face and taunted her. “Water, dear girl?” Yanking off her gag, he warned her, “Don’t you talk, or scream if you knows what’s good fer you.” Unscrewing the cap, he held it out to her.

Unable to reach out and take it, Sarah just sat there, daggers shooting from her eyes. Her mouth was so dry, she couldn’t have spoken if her life depended on it.

“Oh, don’t want any, huh?” Taking the canteen back, Willy said scornfully,

“You’ve been a bad girl anyway. You don’t d’serve none. You caused me no end of trouble. Maybe I’ll make you wait till mornin’,” Willy slurred as he recapped the canteen and staggered back to his buddies, laughing the whole way.

Wild-Flower observed the exchange, and her eyes narrowed and blackened with anger as she made her way back to her horse. Taking her water pouch and keeping to the shadows, she silently made her way back to the tree where Sarah was tied and eased behind the girl, the low-growing shrubbery hiding her.

Sarah jumped when Wild-Flower spoke once again. “Turn head slowly.” Doing as instructed, Sarah turned her head, keeping an eye on the drinking men, who were no longer paying attention to her as they passed Willy’s flask around.

Carefully, Wild-Flower dribbled small droplets of water onto a large green leaf and tipped the liquid into Sarah’s parched mouth without spilling. “I go now.” Slinking away, Wild-Flower flattened herself into the shadows and melted away.

Sarah closed her eyes, thankful for the soothing coolness of the water. She refrained from wetting her dry and cracked lips. Any moisture on her lips would alert Willy that she had help nearby. She prayed for Willy to forget to gag her for the cloth dried her mouth out fast. Later, as Willy unbound her from the tree, Sarah also prayed for her friend’s safety.

She winced against the bite of hard fingers digging into the tender flesh of her upper arm. Once again, they were on the move.