by Barbara Goss
"Breakfast. But it can wait. I'll put it in the wagon. We have to get you ready, fast. I'll answer your other questions while I work."
Grabbing clean clothing, Aunt Emily pulled Sarah into the bushes, talking the whole time.
"I got up early and helped at the chuck wagon; the only way to get decent food, I figured. They loved my griddlecakes. Wait until we get to the ranch and I make my jams! I love cooking for people who appreciate my effort! I rather like them. Don't you? Lift your hair higher, Sarah; I can't hook your dress.
"Sorry, dear, we haven't time to curl and ribbon your hair. Let's just tie it back, like I did mine." Emily pulled back Sarah's long, thick, blond waves and tied them loosely at her neck.
Sarah and her aunt barely made it to the wagon before it jerked forward. Sarah wondered if Storm really would have left her behind, had she not been ready.
Their second day on the trail was uneventful. Storm didn't reappear until they made camp that night. He nodded briefly in her direction, and then busied himself at the horse corral the whole evening.
Storm's aloofness first angered Sarah, but soon the anger turned to loneliness. Aunt Emily seemed to always be somewhere else. Sarah needed Storm's friendship and even craved it.
Her loneliness led her to make a decision. She wanted to please Storm, and she needed friends. If she made an effort toward getting along with the Indians, she would solve both problems.
So far, the crew had stayed out of her way, although she often caught them staring at her from a distance. She ate supper that night with them, despite their uncouth table manners.
Aunt Emily helped Manny at the chuck wagon, so Sarah sat on her bedroll beside the wagon and ate. The stew tasted good, and she recognized Aunt Emily's special gravy.
When finished, she set her plate down and daydreamed, staring lazily into space until a shadow crossed in front of her.
Startled, Sarah jumped up.
"I play? You like?"
She sighed softly. It was only one of the Indians holding a pipe-like instrument. Hesitantly, she smiled. He put the instrument to his mouth, and beautiful sounds emitted from it. Smiling widely to show her pleasure in the music, Sarah sat down again.
Hunter joined her. By now she was used to his company, having ridden beside him for two days. Beginning to like him, she welcomed him warmly.
"That is Lazy Dog," he nodded toward the young musician. "He used to be called Slow Fire, but because he sits around making much music and no work, we now call him Lazy Dog. Sometimes just Dog!"
"His music is strange, but I like it. What is he playing?"
"A whistle, made from bird bones. Just hope he does not sing."
"Why? Does he sing badly?" she asked.
"Like a dog howling at the moon!" laughed Hunter.
Sarah found herself laughing, too. Then she pointed to an Indian she'd caught staring at her several times before. She had also noticed him as the only crewmember with long hair. Was it just the frightening hair, or did she sense this Indian's hostility toward her?
"Who's that?"
"That is Black Feather. He is new. This is his first cattle drive. He is Little Bird's brother."
"Who is Little Bird?"
"Little Bird works at the ranch," he explained.
"See that man there by the fire?" He pointed to an Indian in a bright-red shirt. "That is my son!" he said proudly. "That is Dull Knife. Used to be Young Hunter, but he always forgets to sharpen his knife—so we named him Dull Knife."
"Does everyone change names whenever they want?" she asked.
"You are called what fits—sometimes others name you! It is better to pick a name yourself," he laughed. "One Indian met a skunk in woods—they called him Stinking Dog!" Slapping his knee, he hooted in laughter, until Sarah became caught up in it.
"Is he still called Stinking Dog?" she asked, her eyes tearing from gaiety.
Between howls of uncontrollable laughter, he managed to exclaim, "No, now he is called Hunter!" As Sarah burst into renewed laughter, she realized she was having a good time—with an Indian!
When Aunt Emily and Manny joined them, they moved to the fire, where Manny and Hunter told stories of previous cattle drives. Sarah liked Manny's tale about accidentally putting hot pepper in the stew. He laughed that they were all "on fire," from every end, for three days!
Storm was still absent when she and Emily unrolled their beds. They talked softly for a while; then—practically in midsentence—Aunt Emily began to snore loudly. Alone, Sarah lay silently, unable to relax amid the strange surroundings and wild noises.
Then she spotted Storm. He threw down his bedroll not five feet from her and Aunt Emily. Watching until he disappeared under his blankets, she finally relaxed and fell asleep.
Their daily travel soon became routine, and Sarah noted the constantly changing scenery. Since the day Hunter had killed the antelope, the sight of animals and green wooded areas had vanished. The land had become sandy and dry, the trail hard, unyielding, and dusty.
She yearned for more than the usual ration of water, until she noticed the livestock had become sluggish and slow from lack of any moisture at all. Sarah felt sure the poor animals would soon drop from exhaustion and thirst. She and Emily tried to lighten the oxen's burden by walking alongside the wagon occasionally.
One day the animals perked up somewhat, and with bristled ears and twitching noses they seemed to pick up speed. Hunter explained that they must be close to the Cimarron, for the animals could sense the nearness of water.
Reaching the river midafternoon of the fourth day, Storm permitted them to stay until the following morning, giving them the longest camp yet. He also allowed them to bathe, and the ladies, having never been without water before, couldn't seem to get enough of it.
The land gradually changed from arid desert grassland to lush grassy areas with intermittent woodlands. Once again, they spotted antelope, and Hunter had pointed out a fox, but neither lady had been quick enough to see it.
Storm announced their position as a few miles into the Oklahoma Territory and that from then on water would be plentiful and rationing unnecessary.
Several days after leaving the Cimarron River, the land gradually changed again, to dry, almost desert-like sand. Storm said they traveled just east of No Man's Land in the northern Oklahoma Territory. The land became barren and practically treeless as well. Firewood became a rare commodity.
Already the day was hot. The air hung heavy and dusty, with not even a hint of a breeze to look forward to.
Aunt Emily had asked Sarah to help collect firewood by walking a few miles alongside the wagon. Sarah welcomed the respite, for it felt good to be off one part of the body and onto another.
Upon seeing a stick, they'd snatch it and toss it into the wagon bed.
Hunter pointed out buffalo chips, explaining their usefulness as fuel. While they saw no buffalo, their chips were more easily found than sticks. Sarah felt reluctant to touch them with her hands, until Aunt Emily showed her how dry they were.
Definitely not the same person Sarah remembered from Chicago, Aunt Emily seemed to be having the time of her life. In the city she had seemed every bit her sixty years, while here she flitted about like forty! The West had rejuvenated her, or perhaps it was the adventure. Whatever had caused it; she became a source of constant amazement to Sarah.
Sarah wondered what her mother would think if she could see them now, dressed like settlers, with dusty shoes and smudged faces—picking up sticks and buffalo chips! Giggling softly to herself, she pictured her mother's reaction. She loved her mother dearly but knew she'd never approve.
Sarah watched Aunt Emily's little form bouncing along the trail, picking up sticks and chips. How vibrant and alive she was! She hoped with all her being that Aunt Emily found the adventure of her life in Texas. She deserved it.
Sarah spied a stick showing from behind a large rock. She reached down and took hold of it—and its warm, dry, scales moved in her hand. Realizing
it was alive, she dropped it hastily with a scream, then started to run quickly, too quickly, and tripped over the rock.
Sprawled on the ground, Sarah glanced up to see Dull Knife running toward her. He yelled wildly in a language she didn't understand. A noise like vibrating pebbles sang through the air. She glanced around quickly, trying to identify the sound.
Too late! The snake arched and sprang, striking her in the calf of her left leg. Again Sarah screamed.
Had she screamed yet again? She couldn't be sure. She heard the sound; it could have been her voice, but she didn't think she had the strength to make a sound—especially one so loud and shrill.
Everything seemed hazy. Dizziness overcame her.
No! I never faint—this can't be happening to me.
The next thing she knew, Aunt Emily had appeared and waved a vial beneath her nose. The others surrounded her, looking on in silent wonder.
Sitting up, Sarah pushed the vial away. "I'm all right," she panted, despite her dizziness.
But Dull Knife still frantically muttered words she couldn't understand. She didn't know what he said, but the other Indians did. Wide-eyed, they shook their heads sadly.
One of the Indians, Sarah wasn't sure which, fired his gun at something beyond her. Or she wondered, had he aimed at her and missed?
Sarah tried to stand, but Dull Knife pushed her gently back down into the dust. Still chattering in the foreign tongue, he unsheathed his knife. Seeing the raised blade in his hand and the savage look on his face, she screamed shrilly. The others quickly grabbed her thrashing limbs, hindering her frantic struggle.
Sarah groaned helplessly. Her worst fears had materialized. She was about to be scalped by Indians!
~ C H A P T E R 4 ~
With knife poised, glinting in the sun, Dull Knife hesitated. Frozen with fear, Sarah stared apprehensively. Had her screams stunned him? Was that a flash of tenderness in his black, darting eyes? No. His hand came down, piercing her skin. Blood oozed from the wound. He cut not her scalp, but her leg, twice.
Sarah, too terror stricken to cry, scream, or speak, watched Dull Knife with wide, horror-filled eyes. Putting his mouth to her wound, he sucked the blood, and then spit it out, repeatedly.
Feverishly, she wondered if this were some primitive tribal ceremony performed before taking the scalp. The others looked on in wide-eyed silence, while she battled dizziness, nausea, and anxiety.
Suddenly the crew surrounding her stirred. Someone burst through the circle of men. Storm! Sarah sighed in relief. He would save her!
But no! He slapped Dull Knife's back, "Good work, Dull Knife!"
As she began to slip from consciousness, Aunt Emily waved the vial beneath her nose.
"No!" A revived Sarah cried. "Storm, not you! I trusted you!"
Storm dropped to his knees beside her.
"Please," she cried. "Don't scalp me!"
Storm took her hand. "Sarah, you're hysterical." Beneath his breath he muttered, "Lord, help her, she's in shock." He bent to speak near her ear. "No one is going to scalp or kill you. Oh, Sarah, if this weren't so serious, I'd laugh. Dull Knife just saved your life!
"Hunter grabbed a horse and found me," he explained. "Luckily I wasn't far ahead. I prayed as I sped back, knowing I'd be too late. Which is why I was so relieved to see Dull Knife sucking out the poison." Storm's voice broke with emotion. "If he was fast and thorough enough—you'll— you'll live."
Sarah's eyes flew to Dull Knife, who still labored at removing the venom from her leg. He stopped, and their eyes met.
"Thank you, Dull Knife," she murmured before finally losing consciousness.
When next she opened her eyes, Storm and Aunt Emily, seated wearily at her bedside, were immediately alert. They stared at her expectantly. She smiled. Both let out sighs of relief Sarah was certain could be heard in Chicago!
Aunt Emily hurried away, mumbling something about getting fresh water. Storm still held her hand in his, and when his grip suddenly tightened, she turned to look at him. His eyes were closed and his lips moved, but she heard not a word of his silent conversation, and soon she fell into a restful sleep.
When Sarah awoke, Storm was gone. She sat and let Aunt Emily spoon broth into her mouth. She felt exhausted and weak but wondrously alive! The warm, salty broth was tasty, and she finished it, leaving not a drop.
Aunt Emily, pleased with her patient, washed her, groomed her, and helped her into a clean dress. Sarah thanked her.
Patting her hand affectionately, Aunt Emily spoke of the accident for the first time. "My dear, sweet Sarah, I'm just glad you're alive and well for me to fuss over. I couldn't love you more if you were my own daughter. I thrive on our relationship. I'd never have forgiven myself if …," she sniffed into her wrinkled, recently much-used-looking handkerchief.
"And I love you," Sarah said, smiling weakly. "But it was my own fault. How many times had Storm and Hunter warned me about snakes? Life is so different here. Will I ever get used to it?"
"Certainly, we both will." She straightened her back and put on her brave frontier-woman look. "Now, try to sleep. It's what you need most, you know." Emily winked and silently left the small makeshift tent the men had constructed.
Sarah tried to remember all that had happened since the snakebite, but most was hazy, except Aunt Emily and Storm's presence throughout. Squeezing her memory, she recalled thrashing feverishly and deliriously and Aunt Emily's worried clucking as she quenched Sarah's thirst with a wet cloth.
But most vivid was the memory of Storm's strong hand over hers, encouraging her fight for life.
Throughout her struggle, she had fluctuated between sleeping and restless wakefulness—of which she recalled little. Only one memory shone through, and Sarah gave it credit for her fast recovery.
During the peak of her fever, when she'd burned up unbearably and the nausea had become so agonizing, she had uncontrollably cried out for home. Never had she felt so ill. She craved Chicago; her mother's secure arms, and her nanny's strong, sure nursing hands. The man holding her hand had squeezed it hard at her outcry.
"No!" he'd insisted. "You can't give up and go home!"
"I want to go home!" she'd cried, twisting in her sweat-
soaked bedroll.
"No!" His voice was firm and authoritative. "We need you. You're going to get well. There's a ranch waiting that needs you!"
"Please! No! Take me home!" she'd pleaded. "I don't like it here. I'm frightened and alone." Clawing blindly at him, she'd begged hysterically, "Please, don't let me die here!"
"Stop, Sarah!" He caught her thrashing hands in his. "You have Aunt Emily, you have God, and you have me! We're all here and care, care very much," he soothed. "Don't you trust me yet?" he had asked with tired exasperation.
She remembered how her feverish eyes had sought his and found trustfulness and caring.
Vaguely she recalled answering with relief, "Yes, I do trust you!"
Tired from straining her memory yet relaxed by its comfort, she fell into restful slumber.
When Sarah awoke, Storm was sitting cross-legged on the ground beside her bedroll.
"You gave us all a scare," he whispered.
"Again, I apologize. I'm causing a great deal of trouble."
"Dull Knife doesn't think so. He boasts a new name and is thrilled with it," Storm said with twinkling eyes.
"What is it?"
"Snakebite!"
She laughed. "And he likes the name?"
"He's the proudest man I've ever seen."
Sarah stopped laughing and became thoughtful. "Storm"
He looked at her expectantly.
"I'm sorry for something else. I wasn't fair to you or the entire race of Indians. I'm proud to have so many of them for friends. The odd part is, I felt that way before Dull—I mean Snakebite—saved my life. I'm especially glad about that."
Seeing his understanding grin, she continued. "I discovered their friendship one lonely night. Lazy Dog played an instrument
for me, and Hunter and Manny told stories about previous cattle drives. We sat around the fire and laughed together. I forgot I was with Indians."
"Does it matter when you came to your senses?"
"Yes. It's important. Otherwise I would always wonder if my change of feelings were only due to an Indian saving my life. While I'm extremely grateful, it wasn't what caused my change of heart. I found friends. I came to my own realization that they are living, breathing, and caring people."
Storm's eyes softened, "I'm proud of you, Sarah. You've come a long way since you blanched at the sight of me outside the hotel in Dodge City."
"I …," she started.
He held up his hand. "Stop! No apologies necessary. You've said it all. Now let's get down to business.
"We've lost a day on the trail. I talked to the crew, and we decided since you're so much better we'll continue first thing in the morning." She started to speak, but he silenced her again.
"Now, wait. Before you say anything, let me explain what we've decided. A bed will be made on the back of your wagon, and you're to remain in that bed the whole day, or we don't leave. And that could be dangerous to us all." He stood then, brushing the dust from his trousers.
"How can I ever thank you for treating me with such kindness?"
"By being a good and obedient patient." He winked and was gone before she could ask another question.
The next day, as she traveled upon her mobile bed, every member of the outfit came to visit, bearing a gift. Even Black Feather, whom she suspected didn't like her, came with his offering, a robin's egg. He said little; leaving Sarah with the impression he still resented her.
Strangely, they were no longer just Indians or the crew, but individuals. Sarah met gentle Broken Wing, silent, strong Leo, shy Red Moon, comical Little Hawk, talkative Bent Arrow, and ever-complaining but sensitive Eagle Eyes. She received gifts of flowers, birds' eggs, food smuggled from the chuck wagon, a bird feather, and even an arrowhead.
Lazy Dog and Snakebite gathered enough sticks and buffalo chips to last days. They made her promise never to collect firewood again.
