“What?”
Jeb finally glanced up at Rachel. She seemed so stricken that he relented. “If it were last year, she’d probably be gone only a few days, ‘cause she used to go to the Anderson homestead about ten miles from here. She’d go there to spite her pa because he refused to allow her any more schoolin’. Mr. Anderson was a teacher back East.”
Rachel was surprised. “Then she did continue her education?”
“I reckon so.” Jeb chuckled. “But as I was sayin‘, she might’ve gone there last year, but the Andersons went back East.”
“Then what’s the point in mentioning it, Mr. Hart?” Chase demanded.
Rachel put her hand on his arm to stop him, having learned that Jeb Hart went about saying things in his own way. He never volunteered information, and when he did get to talking, it was a long, drawn-out affair.
“Never mind that, Jeb,” she said quickly. “If you could just tell me where you think she might have gone.”
“She didn’t say,” he answered brusquely, returning his attention to the colt.
“Do you have any idea where she went, Jeb? I’m worried sick.”
“It won’t relieve your mind none if you know,” he warned.
“Please, Jeb!”
He hesitated, then shrugged. “She’ll likely be visitin‘ her Indian friends. And she won’t come back until she’s ready.”
“Indians? But are they... will she be safe with them?”
“I reckon she’ll be as safe with them as she would be anywhere else.”
“I didn’t know there were Indians near here,” Rachel muttered absently, thoroughly confused.
“There aren’t. They’re a good three, four days’ ride from here, dependin‘ on how much of a hurry she’s in.”
“You’re not serious!” Rachel gasped, her eyes widening. “You mean she’ll be traveling alone for three or four days, camping out alone?”
“She’s always done it.”
“Why did you let her go?” Rachel demanded, fear making her sound sharper than she meant to.
But Jeb said simply, “You can’t stop that gal from doin‘ somethin’ she’s set on doin‘. Ain’t you found that out yet?”
Rachel turned to Chase, her blue eyes pleading.
“Will you go after her? I can’t stand to think of her out there alone. She’s only been gone a few hours, Chase. You could find her tonight.”
“Rachel—”
“Please, Chase.”
Looking into those enormous blue eyes, there was no way he could refuse. He sighed. “I’m not the best tracker, but I’ll find her somehow. Now where is this Indian reservation she’s heading for?”
“That would be the Shoshone reservation, wouldn’t it, Jeb?” Rachel said. She didn’t wait for him to answer. “It’s northwest of here. You shouldn’t have to go very far, though. She wouldn’t ride all night, would she, Jeb?”
This time she waited for Jeb to answer. He was looking at them as if they were crazy. “I reckon she’ll bed down somewhere for the night.”
“There, you see,” Rachel said to Chase. “If you just follow the mountains north, you should be able to find her easily.”
“Just don’t expect us back before morning, Rachel. She’s got a couple of hours on me.”
“No matter how long it takes, I’ll feel better just knowing you’re out looking for her.”
Jeb watched the stranger saddle up and ride out. Nice piece of horseflesh, he admitted grudgingly. Too bad the poor creature would be riding days on end for no reason. Well, it wasn’t Jeb’s fault they assumed Jessie’s Indians were reservation Indians. He hadn’t felt obliged to set them straight. His loyalty was to Jessie, no one else. He knew Jessie wouldn’t like being followed. Wasn’t she in a fit because of that man? Wasn’t he why she’d left?
It was just as well Jeb hadn’t explained that Jessie was riding to the Powder River region, an area the Army had conceded to the Indians in 1868. It was the hunting grounds of the Northern Cheyenne and their fearsome Sioux allies. When Chase Summers returned, empty-handed, in a week or so, that would be the time to set him straight. He would no doubt thank Jeb for saving him from venturing into hostile Indian territory.
Why, I probably saved his life by keeping my mouth shut, Jeb reasoned. After that, he didn’t give the matter another thought.
Chapter 4
IT was after midnight when Jessie reached the grubshack used by men working the northern range. No one slept there in the warmer months, so she had the little one-room storehouse to herself. There was even a cot. The next morning at dawn she gathered some supplies and set off. Making excellent time, she reached her destination on the evening of the third day.
Then she found she had made the trip for nothing. She stared across the winding creek at the area where, in winter, fifty tepees crowded beneath the trees. Either she was early, or they were late returning from following the buffalo north. White Thunder’s small tribe had not arrived yet.
She watched a squirrel running through the tall grass. The grass had grown well during the spring and summer. It would support the tribe’s horses for most of the winter, until the tribe moved on. Jessie stood looking around her wistfully. She had looked forward to talking to White Thunder, and she was terribly disappointed. She had not seen him since the spring, so he didn’t know that her father was dead. Now she probably wouldn’t see White Thunder until later in the fall. She wouldn’t be able to get back this way until after the fall roundup.
Jessie crossed the creek, deciding to make camp for the night. She went directly to the spot where she had spent so many nights, the place where White Thunder’s mother, Wide River Woman, always erected their tepee. But it was lonely there without her friend and his family, without the sounds of the children, without the women telling stories as they worked and the men calling triumphantly after a hunt. It seemed more lonely there than any other place on the trail had seemed.
As she spread out her bedroll and gathered wood for a fire, Jessie recalled the first time she had come to this region, eight years before. She had followed her father without his knowing it, followed him because he had a newborn baby with him, and she feared he meant to leave the baby somewhere to die. He had been furious because it was a girl, Jessie wasn’t so ignorant that she didn’t know the baby was her half sister.
Her father had brought the baby here, and she had been relieved. She wasn’t aware that he was leaving the baby with its grandmother. The Indian mistress who had lived with Thomas for a year had died giving birth. She was White Thunder’s older half sister. Jessie learned all that much later.
Wanting assurance that the baby would be safe, Jessie revealed her presence to the Indians after her father had left the camp. White Thunder’s mother guessed who Jessie was by her resemblance to her father, and because she could speak English, she and Jessie became friends. Even White Thunder’s austere stepfather, Runs with the Wolf, tolerated Jessie. He had known Thomas Blair from his early trapping days in the late 1830s, and they had long been trading friends.
Jessie came to see the baby every month that year, until the weather got too harsh for the journey. She grew close to White Thunder and his younger sister, Little Gray Bird Woman, and she flourished, having friends for the first time. Her father was not a warm man, and the Indians filled a gap in Jessie’s life.
The following year, when the weather finally permitted Jessie to travel north again, it was to find that her baby sister had died during the cruel winter. Jessie might have stopped going, but she’d found that the Indian camp was the one place where she could be herself. She could even dress like a girl, which her father wouldn’t allow. She found deepening friendships there, particularly with White Thunder.
She had the best of both worlds when she stayed with the Indians. She could stay by the tepee as young girls were supposed to, learning to sew and create beadwork, to cook, to dress and tan buffalo hides. But it was not frowned upon if she wanted to go hunting with White Thunder,
or enter a horse race, or join in the boys’ games. She could get away with all of that because she wasn’t one of them, and also because she had come to them in male attire and displayed excellent male skills.
They accepted her. They called her Looks Like Woman. With her midnight hair and summer-bronzed skin, she looked like an Indian. Jessica loved her Indian name.
Thinking about the people she loved most brought to mind the man she hated most—Laton Bowdre. Middle-aged and balding, he had brown eyes that were most expressive, telling of the lechery that moved constantly through his mind. There wasn’t much to recommend the man, not his ostentatious clothes, certainly not his gaunt body. He was ugly. He reminded Jessie of a weasel, intent on nothing but his own pleasure.
The first time she met him, even while he was demanding payment on the note he had won from her father, his eyes strayed boldly over Jessie’s body. She had the feeling that if others hadn’t been there, his hands would have followed his eyes.
How right she had been. Her second run-in with the man hadn’t been so easy. Bowdre cornered her on the way to the train depot when she was about to depart for Denver and a shopping spree. There was no one around to rescue her.
She could clearly remember that purring voice.
“Fancy meeting you, Miss Blair. I barely recognized you, my dear, in a dress.”
“If you’ll excuse me.” Jessie tried to pass, but Laton Bowdre blocked her way.
“Perhaps you have something for me?” Bowdre asked smoothly.
Jessie was furious. “We agreed you would get your blood money in three months.”
The man shrugged. “I just thought you might like to pay sooner. But of course you can’t afford to, can you? How could I forget?” He grinned. “It was rather generous of me to give you time, wasn’t it? I never was thanked properly for my kindness.”
Jessie gritted her teeth. “It was decent of you,” she said woodenly.
“I’m glad you realize that. Of course, a little interest on the side wouldn’t hurt.” Before she could answer, he went on. “My dear, I might even be persuaded to wipe out a portion of your debt if you—”
“Forget it!” Jessie snapped. “You’ll get your debt—in money!”
Bowdre chuckled at her indignation and reached out a bony hand to touch her face. “Think about it. A girl needs a man. I might even consider marriage. After all, you can’t be expected to run a ranch on your own. Yes, I might consider marriage.” His hand dropped to her shoulder and started to move lower.
Jessie reacted instinctively, slugging the man with a closed fist that ended up hurting her all the way to Denver. His surprise did not appease her anger, nor did the trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth.
“Don’t ever put your hands on me again, Mr. Bowdre,” she warned him icily.
“You’re going to regret that, little girl,” Bowdre said just as coldly, all pretense gone.
“I doubt it,” Jessie retorted hotly. “I might have some regrets if I were wearing my gun, because then I’d have to explain to the sheriff why I put a bullet through you. Good day, Mr. Bowdre.”
Just remembering that encounter gave her the creeps, and she pushed it from her mind.
With a fire going, Jessie cleaned the large grouse she had shot earlier that day. She cut it up, threw it in a pot of water along with some dried peas, spices, and a bit of flour, then whipped up a thick batter from her supplies and added it to the pot in chunks for dumplings. She had learned long ago never to scrimp on a meal just because she was by herself. A large meal could go a long way. It also provided the nourishment for long, tiring days in the saddle.
With the food cooking over the fire, she turned to Blackstar and gave him a good rub-down. Then she threw a blanket over him for the night. She kept her fringed deerskin jacket on for warmth. Summer was over, she realized. She wrapped her only other blanket around her legs and settled down by the fire to eat.
She was only half-finished eating when Blackstar started snorting and stomping his feet, and she knew she was no longer alone. Jessie knew better than to jump up in alarm. That was exactly what Indians would expect of a white, and she might get an arrow in her back for her foolishness. She stayed right where she was.
She waited several moments more before she spoke in a loud, clear voice, her tone friendly: “I can use the company, and I’ve food to share, if you’ll just come by the fire where I can see you.”
No one answered. Should she say it again in the Cheyenne tongue?
She still didn’t move, but she tried Cheyenne. “I am Looks Like Woman, friend of the Cheyenne. I have a fire to share and food, if you will make yourself known to me.”
Still no answer. She moved between fear and relief when ten minutes passed without a sound. Blackstar had quieted down, too. Still, it wasn’t like Blackstar to make a fuss about nothing.
And then suddenly he was there, standing beside her. Jessie’s hand flew to her chest in shock. She hadn’t heard him approach. One second the space was empty, and then those moccasined feet were there, spread apart, inches from her crossed legs.
Her eyes traveled up his long legs in fringed leggings, past the breechcloth that came only to the middle of his thighs, over the wide expanse of chest that was bare and thickly muscled. Scars there attested to his courage and endurance. White Thunder had similar scars, scars from a Sun Dance of several years past.
As her eyes moved upward, she was surprised to see a man not more than twenty-five years old. His face was arresting, with copper skin stretched over high cheekbones, a hawklike nose, and ebony eyes. The eyes revealed nothing. His black hair was long and loose in the back, with two thin braids in the front. In one braid he wore a single blue feather. A bow and arrows were slung over his shoulder. His hands were empty, showing that he did not consider her a threat.
“You’re a handsome one, aren’t you?” Jessie said as she finished looking him over.
The brave’s eyes met hers, and she blushed, realizing what she had said. But his expression didn’t change. Had he understood? She got to her feet slowly, so as not to alarm him. Then she got her first reaction from him, as the blanket fell away and he saw her skintight pants and gun holster.
Before she could think what to do, he reached for her jacket and spread it open. His eyes lingered on the soft mounds that pressed tightly against her shirt front, yet Jessie didn’t dare jerk away.
Finally he released her, and Jessie let out the breath she had been holding. “Well, now that’s settled, perhaps we can communicate. You speak English? No?” She switched to the only Indian tongue she knew. “Cheyenne? Are you Cheyenne?”
He surprised Jessie then by letting off a long stream of words in a deep, resounding voice. Unfortunately, the single word she recognized was a Dakota word.
“You are Sioux,” she concluded, disappointed, because although the Cheyenne and Sioux dialects were similar, they were not the same.
Jessie had never talked with a Sioux warrior, had only seen a few over the years, a few who had visited White Thunder’s camp. This brave was of the tribes still actively hostile to whites, tribes so powerful they had forced the Army to abandon territory. The Sioux and Northern Cheyenne had not been subdued by the whites, unlike nearly all the other Plains Indians. They had demanded the whole Powder River region as their hunting ground—and gotten it, too. And here she was, facing a Sioux warrior, and he had found her in his territory.
The direction her thoughts were taking was alarming, and Jessie put a stop to them right there. She had no reason to fear this brave. Yet. He had condescended to speak to her, which was a good sign.
“I am called Jessica Blair by the whites, and Looks Like Woman by the Cheyenne. I come here often to visit my friend White Thunder and his family, but I am early this year, so I will return in the morning to my home in the south. Do you know White Thunder?”
She helped the lengthy explanation along with what sign language she knew, but he gave no indication that he understood. She fel
l silent, and he looked away from her toward her horse.
He moved over to examine Blackstar, and she called, “He was given to me by White Thunder.”
The brave said something at last, but she didn’t understand. He reached out and ran a hand over the horse’s flanks, laughing when Blackstar turned his head and tried to bite him.
Jessie lost her patience then and snapped, “Damn it, you can stop looking my horse over right now. You can’t have him!”
The anger in her tone was unmistakable, even if the words were alien. She had managed to get his attention again, and he sauntered over and stood in front of her. This time he was so close she was forced to look up to meet his eyes.
His expression was not so austere now. He spoke again, indicating with signs that he was telling her his name. She tried to decipher his words, and finally grinned as she came up with the English equivalent.
“Little Hawk!” she said proudly, but he shook his head. He had not understood.
Jessie smiled as she indicated again that he was welcome to share her food and fire. This time he acknowledged her offer and sat down by the fire. Jessie returned to her place, wrapping the blanket around her legs again. She had only one plate, and she added more food to it and gave it to him. When all that was left of the food was what had been on the plate when he took it from her, he gave it back. He watched her as she quickly finished eating, and when she was done she got up to clean the utensils and put them away. She could feel his eyes following her every move.
When she came back to the fire, she found him stretched out in the grass, leaning on an elbow, facing her place by the fire.
She might have moved to another spot, but she was too wary to make any changes. She lay down and faced him. Their eyes met, and it seemed they stared at each other forever. His look grew bolder. Hadn’t Blue looked at her that way? It was obvious that Little Hawk desired her, yet she was surprised when he patted the grass beside him, indicating he wanted her to come to him. She shook her head slowly, her eyes never leaving his. Little Hawk shrugged, gave her one long look, then lay down and closed his eyes.
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