by Norah Hess
His feet making no noise on the needle-strewn forest floor, Kane trotted in the direction of the gunshots. He had covered but a short distance when, through the straight, tall trunks of pine, he saw two white men with pistols drawn and an Indian lying on the ground. Blood ran from both muscular thighs.
"You bastards," he growled under his breath, "takin' shots at a man just to hear him yell."
But the stoic brave didn't utter a sound, only looked at the men with contempt. And what was more, Kane knew, no sound would pass his lips if he was shot a dozen times.
Kane drew his own pistol and waited, his eyes skimming the area to make sure the two men were alone. It was then that he saw the woman's body. She lay limply on the ground, much like a cloth doll dropped by a child. She lay so still he knew she was dead.
As though he had witnessed it, he knew what had happened. One of the men had shot the Indian in the thigh, rendering him helpless to defend his woman. And while the poor fellow looked on, they had raped her before killing her. Now the bloody bastards were having sport with her husband before they killed him.
When one of the men raised his pistol and took aim at the Indian's shoulder, Kane brought up his gun and squeezed the trigger. A round, black hole appeared between the gunman's eyes almost before the shot was heard. As the man folded to the ground, his companion spun around, staring wildly. Kane holstered the pistol and drew the sharp hunting knife from its sheath.
The fight didn't last long. Kane's ability with a knife was equal to his skill with a gun. He was agile where his combatant was awkward. They circled each other a couple of times; then with the swiftness of a striking snake, Kane stepped in close to the man and plunged the knife into his heart.
The hill man glared hatred at him. "You have killed two white men over a dirty Indian," he rasped hoarsely, then fell to the ground. He lay there, flat on his back, the sun shining on his wide-open, staring eyes. As Kane bent over him to retrieve his knife, he said, "I didn't kill two white men; I killed two pieces of river scum to save the life of a real man." Wiping the bloody knife on the man's trousers, he shoved it back in its sheath, then walked over to the wounded Indian.
An hour passed in which Kane worked feverishly to keep the brave from bleeding to death. A fire was built, water boiled in the tin cup he carried, the bullets dug out of the red-bronze thighs. Through it all not an exclamation of pain escaped the Indian's lips. Not even when Kane cauterized the wounds with the red-hot blade of his knife. He kept his eyes on his dead wife as though drawing strength from her.
Kane recalled walking over to the woman and kneeling beside her as he straightened her legs, pulled her shift down to her knees, and arranged her arms at her sides. After he took a handkerchief from his pocket and drapped it across her throat where a knife had ended her life, he took off his jacket and spread it lengthwise over her body.
It was then the Indian finally spoke. "Big Beaver gives you his thanks."
"I only wish I had arrived in time to save your woman's life," Kane answered. Then after a thoughtful pause, he said, "I don't know how I'm gonna get you and your wife home. Is your village nearby?"
A bitter look flickered in the black eyes. "It is less than two miles away. Another hour and we'd have been home."
"How safe is it for me to go to your village and send someone after you?"
"I don't think it would be wise for you to go with the news you must carry. If you will add some green wood to your fire, and leave your undershirt with me, I can send up a smoke signal. The young braves will come quickly."
Kane cut small limbs off a maple tree, knowing that they would smoke heavily. When he had arranged them on the fire, he peeled off his buckskin shirt, then the gray woolen undershirt beneath it. Dropping it into the Indian's lap, he pulled the buckskin back on.
"I'll be goin' now," he said, "I have a far piece to walk and I want to get home before dark."
"What are you called?" Big Beaver asked.
"Devlin. Kane Devlin."
"Ah, yes." The black head nodded. "I have heard of you, trapper. My people speak of you around their campfires. They say that you are an honorable and brave white man."
Embarrassed by the respect in the deep voice, Kane made no response. Then, in the manner in which Indians took their leave, he wheeled abruptly and walked back in the direction from which he'd come.
One evening, two months later, when the first light snow had arrived, a knock had sounded at Kane's door. When he opened it he looked into Big Beaver's face. They gazed at each other a moment, both remembering how it had been the day they met.
"Come in, Big Beaver," Kane spoke, opening the door wider and stepping aside for him to enter. "I was just about to have my supper. Will you eat with me?" The brave stepped inside and Kane noticed that he limped slightly, favoring his right leg, the one that had received the deeper wound.
Before they sat down at the table where a pot of steaming stew waited, Big Beaver took a folded piece of material from inside his fur-lined jacket and handed it to Kane. "My mother made you this in exchange for the one I ruined in sending up smoke signals for help that day."
Kane was about to say, "That wasn't necessary," but remembered in time that the proud Indian would feel insulted if he uttered such words. He unfolded the garment made from finely woven wool and held it up. "Thank your mother for me," he said, his eyes admiring the handiwork. "It is much finer than the one it is replacing."
The softening of his features showed that the brave was pleased with the praise of the undergarment, although he didn't say so. Only a woman would do that.
The stew was eaten in silence. But when their pipes were lit and they sat before the fire, they began a lasting friendship as they discussed hunting, fishing, trapping, and even women.
Big Beaver stayed with Kane for four days. On the fifth day, when Kane rose at dawn to run his traps, the Indian was gone. And so it had continued ever since, his new friend showing up at his door at intervals of weeks, sometimes months. He would spend a few days, then leave, most times not saying goodbye.
Kane came back to the present and left off bathing D'lise when she shivered and goose bumps rose on her flesh. Of course, he thought, now that the fever had left her, the morning air would be cold on her flesh.
He spread the cloth on her wounds and pulled the blanket up, tucking it around her shoulders. He smoothed the sweat-dampened curls from around her face, letting his hand linger on the black hair as he continued to gaze at her delicate face. There grew inside him a protectiveness toward her. He silently swore that as long as he lived, this fragile girl would never again suffer at another man's hand. He would be her father, her brother, her protector.
He ignored the small voice that asked cynically, "And nothing more?"
According to the position of the sun, it was around noon when D'lise stirred and opened her eyes. Where was she? she asked herself. When her gaze shifted and she saw Kane sitting nearby, smoking his pipe, she remembered where she was and why. Drat! she thought. I've overslept again. Why hadn't he awakened her? She started to throw off the blanket, then realized that she was bare to the waist. How could that be? How could the trapper have partially disrobed her without her being aware of it?
Her eyes were flashing indignantly when Kane rose and walked over to her. "Well." He smiled, hunkering down beside the pallet. "How are you feelin'?"
"What do you mean, how am I feeling?" she retorted sharply. "I feel fine. Why shouldn't I?" She clutched the blanket to her chin.
"Because, young lady, you had a raging fever all last night," Kane said quietly. "A couple of the belt lashes on you back had become infected. If an Indian friend of mine hadn't come along and treated you, I think that by now you would be dead. Why didn't you tell me that fat bastard was in the habit of beatin' you, that you had cuts on you that could only be a few days old?"
A shamed red flushed over D'lise's face and she lowered her lids. "I didn't see any reason to tell you. You were taking me away from him,
and that was good enough for me. I didn't know they were becoming infected." She forced herself to look up at Kane. "I would like to thank your friend."
"He's gone. He left as soon as your fever broke."
"Then I must thank you for taking care of me." She gazed at the tired look on his face, his red-rimmed eyes. "You haven't slept all night, have you?"
"I dozed a while back. I don't need much sleep." He looked closely at D'lise. "Now, seriously, how do you really feel?"
"I truly do feel all right, only a little weak. And I can't tell you how good it feels not to have my back hurting."
"Big Beaver, my friend, made up a concoction for me to bathe your cuts with and they're coming along fine. They'll be all healed in a couple days."
D'lise blushed, wondering how much of her body Kane had seen as he tended her. Had he seen her breasts? Of course he did, you ninny, she answered herself, her face becoming redder.
Scrag chose that moment to jump from a tree and land on her bed. She pulled him into her arms and buried her face in his fur. Kane suspected what was going on in her mind and said matter-of-factly, "Do you think you're up to riding? We're only about five miles from my cabin. I want to get you home, make you some soup, and get you settled in as soon as possible."
"I'm sure I can." D'lise raised her head from Scrag, more at ease at Kane's practical tone. A woman's breasts probably didn't mean a thing to him. She was sure he had seen dozens of them.
"Turn your back so I can get dressed," she ordered when Kane continued to hunker beside her.
"Oh, sorry." Kane grinned, amused at her imperious tone. This little one could become a dictator if he didn't watch her. He rose and went to saddle the horses.
Kane kept the stallion at a walk, the mare following him. He didn't want D'lise tiring more than necessary. He didn't think he could go through another night like last night should her fever return.
They had ridden a mile or so when they climbed a hill and saw a cabin in the distance. It was a sturdy, neat little place, with curtains at the windows and fall flowers blooming around it. D'lise's pulse leapt with delight.
"Is this your place?" She turned bright eyes on him.
Kane laughed and shook his head. "No, this homestead belongs to Sarah and David Patton. They have three sons and two daughters. They're real nice folk. You're gonna like them."
"Are we stopping here now?" D'lise combed her fingers through her tangled curls as Kane turned the stallion toward the cabin. "I'm a sight." She smoothed her palms over the deep wrinkles in her skirt.
"You look fine," Kane said carelessly. "Nobody will expect you to look spic-and-span after spendin' time on the trail."
They reached the front yard as he talked, and a bright-eyed woman in her early forties stepped out onto the porch. "Kane Devlin!" she exclaimed, coming down the two porch steps. "You're back from the war safe and sound."
So he's been to war, D'lise thought, watching Kane dismount and give the pleasant-looking woman a warm hug.
"Safe and sound, Sarah, and eager to get back to my old life."
"Your old life?" Kane's neighbor pulled away from him and looked at D'lise. "Will the young lady like that, do you think? She may want to change some of your wild ways."
Kane threw back his head and laughed. "You're thinkin' wrong, Sarah. D'lise is not my wife, she's… an old friend's daughter. Before he died, he asked me to take care of her."
D'lise blinked at the bold-faced lie, but was grateful for it. It would bruise her pride to have this nice woman know why she was really with Kane. She'd rather his friends thought she was playing his whore than to have them pity her because of the abuse she'd suffered at her uncle's hands.
"That's too bad." Sarah looked at D'lise with sympathy in her eyes. "Have you been ailin', child? You look kinda peaked."
Before D'lise could answer, Kane broke in, "She's been sick with the same fever that took her Pa." He grinned at D'lise. "I've got to get some meat on her bones." He looked back at Sarah. "And I'd like to get started doin' that by buyin' one of your cows if you've got one to spare. Fresh milk will fatten her up real fast."
"Well," Sarah said thoughtfully, patting her lips with a finger. "I do have a heifer that freshened for the first time this spring. She ain't much to look at, her legs are too long, but she does give rich milk. I guess I could let you have her."
"Good." Kane nodded, then after a slight pause, "Do you think you could spare half a dozen layin' hens? Eggs would be good for her too."
"I swear to goodness, Kane Devlin, next you'll be wantin' to buy one of my boys." Sarah laughed good-naturedly.
"God forbid I'd want one of them hellions." Kane's eyes twinkled teasingly at his neighbor. "I'll settle for a cow and some hens."
"All right, I'll let you have six or seven. Two old broody hens hatched out a clutch of chicks this summer, so I'll have new ones comin' along. But you've got to build them warm quarters with a covered pen before you take them home. The wild critters will get them otherwise."
Kane glanced at D'lise and saw by her pale face that she was beginning to tire. "Let's get the cow then. I think it's time I get D'lise home."
"You sure you won't come in and sit a spell, have some coffee?" When Kane repeated it was best he got D'lise home, Sarah said, "Wait a minute," and hurried inside her cabin. She returned shortly, holding a pewter cup in her hand.
"It's buttermilk." She handed the cup up to D'lise.
"Thank you, Sarah." D'lise lifted the cold milk with tiny flecks of butter in it to her lips. "It's delicious," she said as the milk hit her empty stomach.
It took less than fifteen minutes to lead the long-legged cow from the pasture and tie her to the mare. Goodbyes were said then, with Sarah inviting D'lise to come visit when she was feeling better. "I will," D'lise promised and followed Kane as he led the way.
As the mounts climbed one hill after the other, D'lise spotted another cabin. It, like the first, looked well kept, with flowers blooming in the yard. She was becoming more and more excited to see her new home, a neat little place like the ones they had passed.
Her eyes were glowing with expectation when they reached the top of a long slope and entered a wild clearing. It was bright with yellow blooming goldenrods and red-orange sumac bushes.
In the center of the splendor stood a tiny shed-like cabin.
Her heart dropped to her feet when Kane said proudly, "There it is, built by my own hands."
Chapter Five
Disappointed tears stung the back of D'lise's eyes as her dream of a neat, sturdy cabin faded away. This shedlike building sitting in a weed-choked yard was no better than the one she had fled from. At least Rufus's old shack had two rooms.
She knew that Kane was watching her, waiting for her to say something, to admire his creation. She could not turn her head and look at him. Not yet, at least. First she must let go of her dream, reconcile herself to the fact that she would probably never have a tight, snug place that would keep out the winter winds and the summer heat.
She gave thanks that at least she was free of Rufus. That counted more than having the fanciest cabin in the world.
Gradually she accepted what she could not change. She was at the point of looking at Kane and saying something that would please him when she saw smoke coming from the wood-and-wattle chimney.
"Did you give someone permission to live in your cabin while you were gone?" she asked.
"Not likely. Why do you ask that?"
"Take a look at your chimney."
An angry scowl came over Kane's face, and he kneed the stallion into a loping run. "I'll soon find out who the varmint is and pitch him out on his rear end," he growled.
They thundered up to the cabin just as the door was flung open and an Indian woman rushed outside. "Raven!" Kane exclaimed, his face all smiles now as he swung to the ground and hurried to meet the woman.
When she threw herself into Kane's arms, D'lise felt a prickle of hostility move through her, and was at a loss to sa
y why. She didn't even know the woman, for goodness' sake.
She waited for the trapper to kiss the one he called Raven, but it didn't happen. He only put his arms around her in much the same fashion he had Sarah—well, not exactly, D'lise corrected her thought. He hadn't put a hand on his neighbor's rear.
D'lise sniffed and curled her lips. He had a different feeling for this one. She had probably been his squaw before he went off to war. She turned her head away from the couple but listened intently to what they had to say to each other.
"How did you know I'd arrive today?" Kane spoke first.
"Remember the men you saw making the canoe? One was my cousin. He told me last night. I came early this morning to welcome you."
"Well it's sure good to see you." Kane released Raven and turned to D'lise. "D'lise, I want you to meet an old friend of mine."
D'lise looked into a flat, broad, pock-marked face whose black eyes looked at her with suspicion and hostility. Her greeting smile died a swift death. This woman would be her enemy.
When D'lise and Raven only stared coolly at each other, Kane stirred uneasily, at a loss how to break the tension that had sprung up. Finally, he lifted D'lise and Scrag from the mare's back. Taking her arm, he said, "Let's go inside. You look beat."
D'lise was tired, dead tired, and though she tried to put a bounce in her steps as they moved toward the cabin, she wobbled a bit on her sprained ankle. Kane quickly put a supporting arm around her waist and Raven's lips curled in a sneer. Her black eyes practically shouted, Weak white woman!
D'lise ignored the look of contempt as Kane ushered her through the door. She would deal with that one another day.
The dimness in the small room assaulted her eyes, making her blink rapidly before focusing on the burning fireplace. A soft sight of relief eased through her lips as Kane sat her down in a cushionless rocker. She had carefully leaned back and was beginning to relax when Raven asked with a pout, "Are you finished with Raven now, Devlin? Will you cast her out like an old worn-out moccasin?"
