White Wind (4 page)

He’d judged her to be around twelve winters, just on the verge of entering womanhood, but still a child in her ways.

Recently, his thoughts had turned to the white girl. She would be a woman now. Was she married? Did she have a brood of little ones? No! He would stop this pointless torture. It did not matter. It would not make any difference to his future.

Putting his treasured lock away, he lay down. As he drifted off, he relived the horror he’d felt when her pony had reared in fright, throwing the child to the ground. He again saw the coiled snake ready to strike before he’d pinned it to the earth with a single arrow. He remembered the child’s complete trust in him as he’d helped her to her home.

Bright blue eyes whirled against a golden hazy background as sleep claimed him.

Willy clenched his fist against the pain. His gut burned, not only from the raw liquor, but with rage toward those who had destroyed his most treasured memory. He burned with the need for revenge. It ate at him from the inside out.

He leaned his head against the tree and closed his eyes against pain and unwelcome memories. All the injustices he’d suffered, every bit of bad luck that’d come his way, he blamed on his cousin John.

All his life, John had been the favorite of the two orphaned cousins, had always managed to be first and always got the best. All
he
ever got was second best. Everyone chose John over him, including Emily.

It was John who’d found Emily alone, hysterical, in a wooded area near the cabin. The old man had welcomed her into the family as she had none of her own. Willy thought back and recalled the small gifts he’d given her, boasting that he would marry her someday.

He remembered when he and their French grandfather had taken a load of furs to one of the trading posts along the Missouri River, John remaining behind with Emily.

When they’d returned, John and Emily were gone. Nine months later, they’d returned from Lac Supérieur with three-month-old Sarah and a marriage certificate.

Angry and hurt that John had once again beaten him to the prize, he’d fled. Later Willy discovered that the old man had known all along of their plans, had even helped John and Emily make their escape.

And now John was dead, and he, Willy, was Sarah’s guardian. At first, he’d wanted Sarah because she reminded him of Emily. But now, the girl was an unpleasant reminder of her mother’s betrayal. Willy had not known the truth until John’s dying confession: he’d married Emily to protect her reputation.

For months Willy hid his hatred of her, his hatred of what she was. Besides, he was greedy. He not only wanted the money that would go to Sarah’s husband, but also his share of the money he and Ben had made trapping furs for the American Fur Company.

But he was Sarah’s guardian in name only. Ben protected her fiercely, Mary guarded her and Sarah gave him no respect. They treated him like he was dirt beneath their feet, even refusing to let him share her cabin until they could add room for all of them.

That really infuriated him. He was no animal to be stabled. After John died he’d thought the cabin would become his. But no. It was hers. It wouldn’t be proper for him to stay with her alone, those nosy folks kept telling him.

“Hell,” he cursed beneath his breath. Since when had he ever given thought to what was proper!

“Damn!” he muttered, shaking his head back and forth wearily. He’d figured the girl would be easy to manipulate.

Raucous laughter drew his attention to the dying campfire. “Tenderfoots! Fools! Think to make it rich,” he sneered under his breath, watching the three men unrolling their bedrolls. He’d run into the brothers a week ago, and been persuaded to ride with them. They were eager for his experience, especially Tom, the youngest, who hung on to his every word.

Willy listened with half an ear as they griped among themselves.

“Hey, Willy. Where’s them women you tol’ us about? Sure could use one to warm me bed!” Jack yelled out, his brothers chuckling and joining in.

“Yeah, where’s them virgins you was braggin’ ’bout?”

Willy pulled his knife from his boot. It glittered in the firelight as he stroked it. Silence descended. “I tol’ you, keep yer voices down, you fools. Sound carries. Ya wants to get us all killed?”

His body stirred, reminding him of how long it’d been since he’d had a woman. Just remembering the fear on Sarah’s face was enough to make him hard.

A thin line of blood beaded on his finger from the razor-sharp edge. She’d pay. They’d all pay.

The move to higher ground was under way. The tribe would go to
Sapa,
the Black Hills. There they would find plenty of wood for tipis, water from the melting snow and an abundance of game to tide them over until the buffalo were fat and ready for the kill.

The hills also afforded them protection against soldiers until they could meet up with others of their tribe and nation during the summer hunting and ceremonies. During the summer festivities their combined numbers were such that no enemy would think to attack.

Following the many small rivers and streams across the rolling prairie, they traveled for several days, stopping only when darkness fell.

Golden Eagle rode back to join his father. “There is a good place to stop ahead. There are no thick stands of trees for our enemies to hide behind, and there is plenty of water for our people and animals. It is a good place to let our elders and young rest.” They preferred to camp out in the open, having a healthy fear of ambushes.

Hawk Eyes stopped, turned and signaled for all to halt. “We stop to rest. When
Wi
has risen over
Hanwi
three times, we will continue our journey to the Black Hills.” His voice rang out, loud and authoritative.

Cheers rang out. The three-day rest was welcomed by all. Guards were posted and a small group of warriors left to hunt for fresh meat. Many young boys tagged along to search for prairie chickens, antelope and rabbits.

Amid much laughter and jesting, the women quickly and efficiently set their tipis up along the river and, finding a secluded spot downstream, took time to scrub the dust of travel from their clothing. Shrieks of laughter abounded as young children kicked and splashed as they were scrubbed clean. None seemed to mind the cold of the snow-fed stream.

Clean and refreshed, mothers and daughters went about their chores of garnering wood, water, fresh greens and roots for the evening meal. All prayed for fresh meat to add to their simmering stews.

The following days were relaxed ones. Occasional spring showers were welcome as women visited and gossiped while sewing. The older men told stories to eager children, and warriors took up the tedious task of weapon making.

During times when his tribe was on the move, Golden Eagle snared his family’s tipi, not wanting to burden his mother with the chore of setting up and taking down two tipis.

He sat before the cookfire in the tipi, peeling bark from smoke-cured saplings that would become shafts for his arrows. Suddenly he stopped and sniffed the air. The smell of roasting meat brought on hunger pangs.

His eyes fell to the browning skewers in front of him, and he was tempted to help himself.

A voice from outside the tipi stopped him. Golden Eagle rose and stooped to leave the tipi.

Stands Tall was outside. His name fit him perfectly. “The daughters of Stands Tall and Singing Sun have not returned,” he gravely announced, lines of worry creasing his high forehead. “They went with the other women to gather food. The others have returned.”

Golden Eagle went into immediate action. He gave the cry of alarm, gathered his weapons and went to the group of quiet women and girls.

“Bright Blossom,” he said. “Where did you last see Two Moons and her sister?”

Bright Blossom’s eyes remained downcast in respect as she pointed. “They went to look for
Wanahcha.
”

Golden Eagle frowned. He was familiar with the purple prairie clover. He could not recall seeing any within the boundaries of their camp.

An all-knowing voice broke in. “Stupid girls. I told them they should not leave the camp without escort.”

Golden Eagle turned and confronted a plump maiden. “As one of the older maidens, Night Star, you should have alerted one of us,” he reprimanded her, surveying the group as he mentally picked out those who would go with him to search for Stands Tall’s daughters.

Night Star flushed. She was long past the marriage age, and being referred to as an older maiden was an insult. Golden Eagle held up his hand, preventing her from saying anything further.

“Go back to your father’s tipi. I have no time for your sharp tongue,” he commanded, motioning the waiting warriors to follow him.

Searching diligently on foot, they spread out, going downriver where the girls were last seen. Around a bend, they found woven baskets, their contents of leaves, roots, bark and purplish flowers strewn across the carpet of green grass.

There the grim-faced warriors also found signs of the girls’ struggles. It appeared they had been carried through a belt of thick shrubbery on the other side of the shallow stream. Crossing the stream, they followed the tracks of two men.

The trail of footprints led the anxious group farther downriver to where two sets of tracks became four, and horse tracks replaced human ones.

Golden Eagle and Red Fox squatted to study the crisscrossing tracks. “These tracks carry our girls,” Red Fox stated, pointing out two of the four sets of prints that made deeper impressions in the rain-softened earth, suggesting those horses carried two riders each.

“The horses are shod,” Golden Eagle added, their eyes meeting. White men had been near.

“Let us return to the others and prepare to go after them. We will find and deal with those who take what does not belong to them. Come.”

Golden Eagle led the swift return to report their findings to the council, and the decision was made to move to a new location that night. It was too risky to remain.

Tipis were quickly taken down, travois loaded and ready meals hastily eaten. The warriors would catch up. Golden Eagle was the chosen leader of the small band. His
closest friend, Red Fox, was among the five bravest warriors who would accompany him.

Weapons were made ready, medicine pouches prepared and blessings given from their
Wicasa Wakan,
Holy Man. Prayers were sent to the Great Spirit to guide them and return the mighty warriors with the daughters of Stands Tall.

The moon hung suspended against a star-studded background lighting the way as the tireless warriors followed the trail of fleeing horses throughout the long night. They slowed only when clouds blocked the moon’s glow.

It was late afternoon. One day had passed since the two girls had disappeared. They’d ridden long and hard, breaking only to rest and water their horses, when they came upon the girls.

Six battle-hardened warriors stood surveying the nauseating sight before them. Both girls had been raped, beaten and stabbed to death.

Off to one side lay the body of one white male, a crude knife protruding from his evil heart, his life blood drained from his body to soak into the earth beneath him.

Golden Eagle kneeled and removed the knife. It was the type of knife many of the women in his tribe used in their daily tasks. He carefully wiped it clean. He would present it to Stands Tall. His daughter had died honorably. The young girl had bravely fought for her life and managed to kill one of her attackers. But in the end, she’d been overpowered and killed along with her sister.

“Why do they do this?” Red Fox thundered.

Golden Eagle looked to the heavens, arms high over his head, seeking answers.

“I do not understand the greedy whites. Our people go out of their way to keep to ourselves. Why do the whites seek our people out? Why do they take and kill? Do they not have enough that they must take from us?”

Taking deep breaths to calm the fury that threatened to choke him, he gave a bitter laugh, his face mirroring the murderous expression of the others. “And whites say
we
are savages!” He spat and turned away in disgust. His people prided themselves on dealing honestly and justly, both within their tribe and with their enemies.

Even death to an enemy was carefully thought out and planned. Chief Hawk Eyes would not allow senseless killings within his tribe, and anyone who did not abide by this ruling found himself cast out.

Golden Eagle swore to avenge the deaths of the innocent girls who’d had their life so cruelly extinguished. Such wastefulness of life was unforgivable, and those found responsible would pay with their lives.

He watched as Red Fox directed the loading of the lifeless bodies onto two makeshift travois. Two warriors, each bearing a burden, not only physically but in their hearts, left to rejoin their people.

The remaining four warriors dragged the dead man’s body to the water’s edge and left it as warning to other whites who might harbor evil intentions. The message of the mutilated body was clear.

Following the remaining three sets of tracks, the warriors rode low, their eyes trained to spot bent grass, broken branches and overturned rocks.

They followed without rest until
Wi
lowered behind the horizon. Darkness made following difficult, but not impossible for the strong, surefooted warriors. But both man and beast needed rest.

At nightfall, they made camp for a few hours, each lost in his own thoughts. Long before the first light streaked across the horizon, four unrelenting warriors were back on the trail they had followed steadily for a night and day. They rode in silence.

After hours of hard riding, the warriors stopped when the trail split. Two sets of tracks went east, while the third headed west. Sending two warriors to follow the single set, Golden Eagle took Red Fox with him to follow the remaining two.

They came upon the white men’s camp at the top of a ridge in the late afternoon, disheartened to find it deserted.

A gleaming object drew Golden Eagle’s attention. Stooping, he used a twig to pick up a round shiny, object hidden beneath the rubble of a hastily eaten meal.

Holding up the round disk that hung from a torn chain, he noticed there was a large marking in its center.

Slipping the white man’s belonging into a separate pouch, the two weary warriors continued. At the fall of evening they stopped to examine the freshness of the tracks. “We gain on the white dogs,” Golden Eagle exclaimed to Red Fox. He pointed upward to the round fullness of the glowing moon. “We use the light of
Hanwi
to guide us. Our enemy is ahead.”

Sarah woke to the sound of restless snorts coming from the horses in the corral. “Darn coyotes!” she mumbled, grabbing her rifle. She crept across the room, careful not to wake Mary.

Since her last confrontation with Willy, Mary and Ben had insisted she stay with them until they could get her to Mary’s family. Building the addition onto her cabin had come to a halt. That would no longer be enough to keep her safe.