Wind Rider (28 page)

“Don’t try to deny it, Hannah,” Gilmore said sternly. “I can see how frightened you are of
the man. Don’t worry; I won’t let him hurt you
again.”

“No, you don’t understand.”

“I understand only too well. Rumors have
been flying for a long time about a white
Indian, but the army put no stock in them.
What do you want, Wind Rider? Do you have
a white name?”

“My name is Larson, Ryder Larson. I want
my woman.”

Gilmore laughed harshly. “I’m taking her
back to Denver, to her master. You do know
she’s an indentured servant, don’t you?”

“Hannah is my wife.”

“Your whore, you mean.” Hannah cried out
in dismay at Trent’s harsh assessment of her.
“You must know that even if you did marry her
in some heathen ceremony, it isn’t legal.”

“Go away, Wind Rider. Can’t you see you’re
only making matters worse?” Hannah’s voice
was shrill with fear. “I am ready to go with you,
Trent.” She placed a hand on his arm, trying to draw his attention from Wind Rider. She’d do anything to keep Wind Rider safe.

Wind Rider saw Hannah’s gesture, heard her
place herself in Gilmore’s protection, and his
temper exploded. “You will go with no man but
me.” He grasped her arm, intending to pull her
away, but Gilmore reacted swiftly.

“Sergeant MacGregor, arrest that man!”

Immediately, a burly man advanced toward Wind Rider, brandishing his weapon. When it looked as if Wind Rider would resist Gilmore
said, “Privates Pilcher and Mickley, help Mac
Gregor.”

In growing horror Hannah saw the three men
surround Wind Rider, cutting off all avenues of
escape. A sob lodged in her throat. What would they do to him?

Wind Rider stood very still. His uncontrol
lable temper had thrust him into a dangerous situation. What had happened to the restraint he had learned at the knee of his Cheyenne
father? he wondered dimly. In the end, his
white blood had prevailed over his Indian upbringing, and he grieved for the loss of that part of himself he considered Indian. Calmly,
almost too calmly, he considered his chances
for escape and found them severely limited. He sent Hannah a look so filled with venom,
it nearly broke her heart. Did he really think she wanted to go with Trent?

“What should we do with the man, Lieuten
ant?” Sergeant MacGregor asked once they had
Wind Rider subdued.

“Put him in chains and throw him in the stockade, Sergeant. Tell the sergeant of the guard not to release him under any circum
stances.”

“What are the charges, sir? Captain Purdue will want to know.”

“Rape, for one thing. I’ll get a deposition
from Miss McLin to verify the charges. And his activities with the Indians will need further
investigation. Tell Captain Purdue 111 conduct
the investigation from Denver and wire him the
results. Meanwhile, let him rot in the stockade.”
He turned to Hannah and smiled. “Didn’t I tell you I’d protect you from the savage? He’ll not harm you again.”

A choking sensation rose up to steal Hannah’s
breath as Sergeant MacGregor poked Wind Rid
er forward with his gun. He paused once to
glare at her over his shoulder. He raised his clenched fist, then quickly lowered it. But it
was all the sign Hannah needed. She knew
by that brief gesture that he would find her
somehow, to punish her for this perceived
wrong.

“Are you ready to leave, Hannah?” Gilmore
asked, pleased with the way he had handled
the situation.

“What will happen to Wind Rider?”

“That’s for the army to decide. Rape is a serious charge. There is also the matter of his going on the warpath with the Indians. I can’t
believe he’s actually a white Indian. What do you know about him?”

“Not much,” Hannah lied. “I think he was raised by the Cheyenne. But he didn’t rape me. We were married according to Indian rites.”

Gilmore frowned. “Don’t defend him,
Hannah. I know you were forced. There’s
no court in the country that will fail to
convict him if he’s brought to trial. Forget
him; he’ll never hurt you again. Concentrate
on the future. I’ve transferred to Denver just
so I could take care of you.”

“You don’t care that I’ve been Wind Rider’s
woman?”

“Oh, I care. I’d like to kill the bastard.” He
leered at her. “Still, he must have taught you
something while you were his woman.”

Hannah gasped in dismay. The longer she was with Trent Gilmore, the more she distrusted him.

What Gilmore didn’t say was that while she wasn’t exactly the kind of woman he’d bring
home to his mother, he was no longer living in the South. Western standards were different.
Women were scarce, and Hannah McLin was
beautiful enough to forgive her lapse as long
as she was repentant. She was far lovelier than any woman he’d seen here so far. He doubted
he’d ever marry her, given her unsavory his
tory, but he certainly hadn’t anything against being her protector and lover.

Gilmore was the product of the aristocratic
South, where taking a mistress was perfect
ly acceptable behavior. Rescuing Hannah had
appealed to his sense of honor and had earned
him a certain amount of glory, but offering marriage was taking his infatuation a step too
far.

Gilmore lifted Hannah onto the wagon seat
and climbed up beside her. Grasping the reins with one hand, he signaled the patrol forward.
As they left Fort Laramie behind, Hannah
knew a terrible fear. The man she loved
was in the stockade and would likely be
sent to prison. If Trent proved that Wind
Rider had participated in Indian raids, he
might even hang. If she hadn’t insisted that
he leave the Sioux, or refused to return to
Red Cloud’s camp with him, he wouldn’t be
in this mess. It was all her fault, and now she
might never see Wind Rider again. Would he
ever forgive her?

Wind Rider paced the cell like a caged ani
mal. The chains on his arms and legs reminded him of his lowly position among white eyes.
He pounded on the door and earned nothing for his trouble but a harsh warning from the
sergeant of the guard. Over a week had passed
since he’d been locked behind bars, and he’d
cursed his impetuous nature many times since that day. If he’d bided his time and waited, he
could have used his cunning to spirit Hannah
away from the blue coats. But the moment
he had witnessed the lieutenant’s proprietary
manner toward Hannah, caution had deserted
him.

 
*
     
*
     
*

After being denied his freedom for two weeks Wind Rider felt himself teetering on the brink of insanity. Accustomed to open spaces, to going
where he willed, he found confinement the
worst kind of torture imaginable. He was seriously thinking of wrapping his chains around
the guard’s neck when he brought the next meal
and squeezing the life from him, regardless of
the fact that it would mean his death. Desperate
as he was, he would welcome death; living like
an animal did not appeal to him.

Zach Mercer drove the freight wagon into
Fort Laramie, cursing his incredibly bad luck. Three of his most experienced drivers were incapacitated, leaving him shorthanded and
forcing him at the last minute to drive one
of his Denver-based company’s freight wagons
to Fort Laramie to fulfill the contract he had
negotiated with the army. It was a lucrative deal;
otherwise he would have delayed the shipment
until a driver was available. Leaving Abby and their new son was one of the most difficult things he’d ever done.

Even though he had left Abby well protected
by a small army of hired men, most of them
proficient with guns, he worried about them in
these unsettled times. Just thinking about Abby
and their small son brought a smile to his lips. Little Trey was a perfect child, a delight, and there would never be another woman for him
but Abby. He loved her to distraction despite their unconventional meeting. When they had first met she was known as Tears Like Rain.
She had claimed him for her slave and by so
doing had saved his life.

Zach drove the lead wagon of the four-wagon
convoy to the supply depot, where it and the others would be unloaded. First thing in the morning, he and the other drivers would drive
the empty wagons back to Denver.

“Mr. Mercer, your wagons are right on time.
What brings you to Fort Laramie?” the officer
in charge of the supply depot asked. It was a rare occasion that brought the owner of Mercer Freighting to Fort Laramie.

“Necessity, Lieutenant Coppersmith, pure
necessity. Two of my drivers are laid up
because of accidents, and one was involved in a gunfight. All three are recuperating, but
I didn’t have time to hire and train another
driver. What’s new in this part of the country,
Lieutenant?”

“Same as in your part of the country, I reck
on. Indians are still on the warpath. General Conner took three columns into Powder River country, but word is, they’ve encountered few
Indians. A short time ago he sent word that
he had wiped out a Cheyenne camp and an Arapaho camp. The deputy commander is in
charge of the fort during his absence.”

Zach’s attention sharpened. ”A Cheyenne camp, you say? Do you happen to know the
name of the tribe’s chief?”

The lieutenant scratched his head, trying to recall the rumors he’d heard. “Yeah, now that you mention it, I do recall hearing the chief’s name. Rumor has it that Chief White Feather was killed in the attack.”

Zach went still. White Feather. Abby would be devastated. He had no idea how to tell her
that her foster father had been slain by the army
during an attack on his camp. “What about the
women and children?”

“Most of them ran away. Conner let them go.
He didn’t want it referred to as another Sand
Creek.”

Zach was thankful that Summer Moon was
still alive. He wondered about the child he knew she had been expecting. “I’ll report to
the quartermaster,” Zach said, eager to receive
payment for the shipment and be on his way. He
feared Abby would hear the news from someone
other than himself. Perhaps he’d leave tonight if
the wagons were unloaded by then.

Zach had received payment for the shipment
and was on his way out the door when a chance remark stopped him in his tracks. Two enlisted men who had just entered the office were discussing a man being held in the stockade. The
words Zach heard were “white Indian.”

Zach whirled, smiling at the men in a friend
ly manner. “What did you say, Corporal? I just
arrived at the fort and haven’t heard the latest
news. Did you say the white Indian was being
held in the stockade? Is he truly white? Or is he merely a half-breed?”

“He’s white, all right,” the corporal smirked.
“His skin is tan from the sun, but his eyes
are a strange silver-gray. He hasn’t denied
he’s white. Says his name is Ryder Larson,
but Lieutenant Gilmore said he’s called Wind
Rider.”

Zach tried to suppress his shock. “What are
the charges against him?”

“Rape,” the corporal offered. “And Lieuten
ant Gilmore suspects him of raiding with the
Sioux.”

“Rape,” Zach repeated dully. That certainly didn’t sound like the Wind Rider he knew. For
Abby’s sake, he had to find some way to help her beloved brother. “Who did he rape?”

The corporal leered knowingly. ”A pretty little
piece he captured. Turns out she was a runaway
indentured servant. Lieutenant Gilmore res
cued her and escorted her to Denver. Word
is, the lieutenant has a hankering for her.”

Pretending to lose interest in the subject,
Zach excused himself and went on his way,
all thought of leaving that night forgotten. His mind was in a turmoil as he walked slowly across the parade grounds.

“Zach! Zach Mercer! What in tarnation are you doing at Fort Laramie?”