His lips were still puckered to execute his threat when she depressed the lever. Her aim was off. Rather than squirting him in the eyes as she’d intended, the spray hit him in the nose and lower face, but it was enough to do the job. In the next instant, Tenskwatawa was hopping around, clawing at his face and screaming in pain while he others looked on in amazement.
“Skotai! Skotai!” he shrieked. “Fire! Fire! My face is on fire!” Meanwhile, his swiping at the spray had smeared it across more of his skin and onto his hands.
One of his cohorts ran for water while the others looked on in helpless fascination. Two of the fellows had the presence of mind to keep their weapons pointed toward Nikki and Silver Thorn, however, which prevented either of them from leaving the scene. One of the men took a step toward her, and Nikki raised her pepper gun again.
“Do it, turkey. Make my day,” she told him.
The man retreated, but only a couple of paces. The look on his face clearly showed that he hoped he was now out of range of her strange weapon.
Silver Thorn leaned close and murmured, “What did you spray on him that burns so?”
“They call it pepper spray. To tell you the truth, this is the first time I’ve used it. I had no idea it would work this well.”
“Will it wash off?”
“Not easily or quickly, or so they claim. It’s not supposed to cause any permanent damage. It’s mainly a deterrent against attackers. But I think it takes awhile to wear off.”
By this time, tears were running down Tenskwatawa’s blistering cheeks, just as Nikki had predicted. Chief Peahchaete was duly impressed. “You possess strong magic, Neeake. It is good.”
“Yes, but not good enough, I’m afraid,” she told him. She nodded toward the Prophet’s henchmen, who were still on guard.
She directed a whispered inquiry to her husband. “Do you have any super tricks up your sleeve, darling? Or are we still obliged to travel to Tecumseh’s camp with these yahoos?”
“We will go,” he replied tersely. “I must speak with Tecumseh; and if I left you behind now, I would worry that Tenskwatawa would continue his efforts to harm you. Far better that we keep him within our sight than have him sneaking up from behind us.”
“A valid point,” she concurred. “Never turn your back on a rabid animal.”
“I do not think you need fear that these scoundrels will accost you on the way,” Peahchaete put in. “They will keep a fair distance between themselves and your small but mighty heat-shooter. As a further safeguard, I will send three of my braves with you. I will notify your uncle as well. Black Hoof will most likely send warriors to your defense.”
“Thank you, Chief Peahchaete,” Nikki said. “We appreciate your kind efforts.”
“Your assistance will not go unrewarded,” Silver Thorn added.
Their attention was diverted as Tenskwatawa, having endured the agony as long as he could, made a mad, wailing dash toward the river. A loud splash and wild thrashing followed.
Nikki, Silver Thorn, and the chief shared a laugh.
“That should keep him occupied for a while,” Nikki commented blithely. She hooked an arm through each of theirs, grinning up at them. “Shall we dine, gentlemen? I’m positively starved!”
Tenskwatawa was sufficiently recovered by late that afternoon to embark on the journey. His face and hands were red and puffy, and his chest was streaked with vivid welts where the spray had dripped on it, but he was in a rush to leave. Nikki figured he wanted to be gone before Black Hoof could receive Peahchaete’s message and send reinforcements.
“It will be fine,” Silver Thorn assured her as he helped her into the canoe. “Tenskwatawa knows that Black Hoof’s warriors will be close behind. My brother is impulsive, but he is not entirely witless. He knows that Black Hoof, unlike Tecumseh, would not hesitate to kill him.”
In all, there were four canoes in their party. Tenskwatawa’s men rode in the lead and rearmost canoes, with Nikki, Silver Thorn, and the three braves from Hog Creek sandwiched in the middle. One of the village braves, a man named Fish Spear took the rear position in Silver Thorn’s canoe to help with the paddling and thus speed the journey along since Nikki’s proficiency was fledgling at best.
At a normal pace, the journey would have taken three or four days, with regular stops during the day and the nights spent camped ashore. This was not to be a leisurely trip. At the brisk pace they were traveling, allotting the bare minimum for rest, Silver Thorn estimated they would reach the southern shore of Lake Erie in two days or less. Neither he nor his brother were inclined to dawdle, each having his own reasons for wanting to reach Tecumseh as soon as possible.
For the first few hours, Nikki was merely restless. After the sun set, twilight turning the river as dark as ink, she became very tense. “How can you navigate when you can’t see where we’re going?” she asked anxiously. “What if we hit a rock or a submerged log or something?”
“I can see well enough,” Silver Thorn assured her. “The moon is on the rise, and we know the river and its hazards well.”
“You must have eaten a lot more carrots than I did,” she mumbled. “To me, it’s as dark out here as the inside of Hogan’s goat! Are we going to stop anytime soon?”
“We will most likely continue on for a few hours yet.”
“I can’t wait that long,” she told him. “You men may have bladders the size of a moose, but I have to piddle.”
They made a stop soon thereafter, primarily for her benefit. Tenskwatawa was none too thrilled at the delay; and when Nikki headed for the bushes, he started to follow, though several paces behind. Silver Thorn stepped into his brother’s path, cutting him off, just as Nikki turned around to confront them. With her flashlight in one hand and her pepper spray in the other, she announced loudly, “Thorn, you’d better tell Randy Rabbit and his buddies that if any of them come skulking around after me, they’ll get a good dose of my pepper spray in a very private area. Not only will it wilt their . . . uh . . . ardor, it could very well make it fall completely off.”
Predictably, no one came anywhere near her after that dire warning—not even when they made a three-hour layover around two in the morning for a too-brief sleep. They were on the river again after a quick breakfast, during which Tenskwatawa griped incessantly because the “squaw” refused to cook for them.
To which, Nikki replied irritably, “Stuff it, Buffalo Belly. I only work for union wages.”
It was a long, tiring trip. Fortunately, though the sky was overcast, it didn’t rain. Again they stopped briefly during the night, after silently slipping past Fort Meigs; and by mid-morning of the third day, they were nearing the area where Tecumseh was rumored to be camped.
They knew they were in the right vicinity when they began to pass sentries, who announced their arrival with a series of bird calls and varied signals. By the time they reached the campsite, Tecumseh and twenty of his warriors were stationed on the riverbank to greet them, fully armed and scowling. Tecumseh stepped forward, leveled his rifle at The Prophet’s head and, in a voice like thunder, commanded, “Tell me how you dare show your face before me again. Then tell me why I shouldn’t shoot you.”
“Because I bring you the white witch who is turning your people against you,” Tenskwatawa whined.
“Because he’s not worth the price of a bullet,” Silver Thorn offered disdainfully.
“Because he’s stupid beyond belief?” Nikki added. “Besides, history says he is to live a long and miserable life.”
At this, Tecumseh’s gaze turned toward her. “Are you this white witch of whom he speaks?”
Under the scrutiny of those intense hazel eyes, Nikki had to fight not to squirm. Fortunately, her voice was stable and her own gaze unwavering when she spoke. “I am your sister-in-law, Silver Thorn’s wife, and Black Hoof’s niece.”
“She is not a witch, Tecumseh. She is Shawnee,” Silver Thorn put in. “Tenskwatawa is simply up to his old tricks.”
Tecumseh wav
ed him to silence, his attention still directed at Nikki. “And do you speak against me, as is claimed?” he pressed.
Nikki drew a deep breath. “I speak against your involvement with the British in this war, but not against you. I have seen what the future holds for you and the Shawnee, and I would change it if possible. That is why Silver Thorn summoned me from the future.”
Tecumseh nodded. “I would hear more of this.” He waded into the shallows and offered his hand to help her disembark. “Come. We will talk.”
Their hands touched, and Tecumseh gave a start. His eyes widened. “You are carrying Silver Thorn’s child,” he stated softly.
“Yes,” Nikki admitted, “your nephew. It is our wish that you live to see him born.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Tecumseh led Silver Thorn and Nikki to his lodge. The Prophet and his men were directed to another lodge, where they would be kept under guard. Tecumseh didn’t trust Tenskwatawa not to stir up more mischief if left on his own to wander around the camp.
Silver Thorn led the discussion by telling Tecumseh how he had bid the Spirits to send him a messenger from the future and of Nikki’s appearance with the amulet. He told of the strange and wondrous items she’d brought with her from her time and much of what she’d revealed of her world.
“She is no witch, Tecumseh. She is the messenger I summoned, and she knows what will happen with this war and with our people. If we cannot change it, disaster is sure to come.”
Next, Nikki related all she could remember about the war, its progress, and its eventual outcome—citing places and battles and dates with an accuracy the men found uncanny. Then, as gently as she could, she broke the worst of her news to Tecumseh.
“Unless you quit this war, my history states that you are destined to die soon in what will be known as the Battle of the Thames, along a river of the same name in Canada. There, on the fifth day of October, minutes into the battle, the British will surrender to the American forces, leaving you and your Indian troops to fight alone. You will be slain; and with no one left to lead them, your troops will disperse and return to their homes.
“The Americans will go on to win the war against the British. The British will return to England; and in a few years time, all Ohio tribes will be forced to leave their homes and move to lands west of the Mississippi River. Poor lands, that will grow little and sustain few. Reservation lands, allotted by the American government, with no vast forests and abundant game, where the Shawnee will no longer be masters of their own lives.
“This fate also awaits other tribes, even those in the South. The Creeks. The Seminoles. The Cherokee will be driven like cattle across the miles to a reservation in Oklahoma. Many will not survive the long, hard journey. So many will perish that the journey will thereafter be known as the Trail of Tears. The future for the Indian tribes is very bleak. Some tribes will vanish from the earth altogether, while others will be greatly reduced in number. Yet, somehow, they will carry on, despite poverty and hunger and disease. But it will never be the same as it is now.”
Again, Silver Thorn took up the appeal. “Tecumseh, when I called upon the Spirits, I never thought I would learn of such disaster for our people. Nor did I think to learn that you would soon be taken from us. It is my hope that, by revealing this to us through Neeake, the Spirits are giving us a chance to alter the course of destiny for us all. I implore you, brother. Withdraw from this war now. Help us to avoid this tragic end. Save yourself and our people while there is yet hope.”
Tecumseh closed his eyes on a deep sigh. When he opened them again, they were bleak. “It is too late, Silver Thorn. I have spoken to my followers. I have told them that I feel this war is lost. That there is no need to pursue it further. Many took my words to heart and have already left. For that, I am glad. The others will not hear me. They have pledged to stay and fight until the end, and they wish me to stay and lead them in it. They are right. I cannot abandon them, as much as I would wish to end this now. I must stay, no matter the cost.”
“No!” Silver Thorn could not sit still and allow his brother to resign himself so easily to his own death. His eyes flashed angrily. “Curse you, Tecumseh! Where is your fight? Your fire? Your will? Can you not see that by acting now you may save entire tribes? By going on with this, you are knowingly condemning them and yourself. Is this what you planned when you devised your great confederation of tribes? I think not!”
“The confederation is lost as well, but a bright dream that faded away too soon,” Tecumseh pointed out unnecessarily. “Tenskwatawa saw to that, blast his detestable hide. If ever there were an opportunity for the Indian to prevail over the white man, this was it, and his rash actions destroyed it before it could be properly born. For that, I will never forgive him.”
“Hate him to your dying breath, then,” Silver Thorn concurred. “But hate him hard and long. Not for so short a span. Tecumseh, you are too great a leader to abandon us now. Give yourself and the people enough time to recover and to reconsider. Build the dream anew. Without Tenskwatawa to sabotage your best efforts, you may succeed beyond your wildest expectations. Your confederation may yet breathe new life and prosper, and our people with it.”
“No. It took twenty years to prepare the uniting of the tribes before. I am too old and too tired to start again.”
“That’s a heap of buffalo dung, brother. You and I were born at the same time, and I am not near ready to give up on life. With Neeake at my side and my son on the way, I am eager to meet the challenge of each new day. So should you be.”
“I am glad for you, Silver Thorn. I wish you well. But I haven’t the heart to attempt it anew. There are no challenges that interest me any longer.”
“Truly?” Silver Thorn’s brow rose in question. “That is too bad, for I was about to propose one to you. One which I thought would hold enormous appeal for you.”
Tecumseh waved his hand indifferently, but gestured for Silver Thorn to continue.
“I propose that the two of us engage in a contest of powers. We will select seven men to act as impartial judges. If I win the match, you will withdraw from the war. What you choose to do with your life afterward will be up to you. If you win, I will accept the inevitable and never speak again of this matter.”
Tecumseh sat silent and thoughtful for several minutes. At last he said, “If I accept your challenge, there is one thing more I would have from you, Silver Thorn. Should I win, I would have your pledge that you will remove my body from the battlefield before the soldiers can mutilate it. Bury me covertly and in honor and keep my grave a secret from all who would plunder it, that my spirit might rest in peace.”
“You have my solemn vow,” Silver Thorn said somberly. “However, I do not plan to lose this contest. If I have my way, that pledge may not be fulfilled for many years to come.”
The competition was to take place the next day, which gave the men a short time to rest up and prepare themselves mentally and physically for the challenge. Word of the contest spread like wildfire; and before long, everyone was placing bets on which of the brothers would win.
Tenskwatawa was among those who claimed Tecumseh would triumph. Now released from temporary custody, though under supervision, he was quick to involve himself in the betting. At the same time, he took advantage of the opportunity to spread his volatile opinions about Nikki.
“That brownnosing little weasel!” Nikki fumed. “For two cents, I’d teach that vile little rumor-monger a lesson!”
“You have done that, I believe, with your pepper spray,” Silver Thorn reminded her.
“Evidently the message didn’t stick very long. Your brother must have a short attention span.”
Delving into her backpack, she came up with her camera and headed toward the group of men in whose midst the Prophet now stood, spreading his lies to anyone and everyone who would listen.
Silver Thorn grabbed her by the arm, halting her progress. “What are your intentions, my little hothead?”
&nbs
p; “If I’m going to wear the name, then by God I’ll play the game. I’m going to steal Tenskwatawa’s soul.”
“Is that not throwing more fuel on the fire?” he inquired quietly. “Only a few are likely to believe him now. But if you offer them proof in favor of his accusations, then many more will think you truly are a witch. Do not let Tenskwatawa make you act rashly, Neeake. While all the warriors know that Tecumseh does not condone the killing of women, children, or unarmed men, they possess a deeply seeded fear of sorcery that could well override their chief’s edict. Do not aggravate what could soon become a sensitive situation.”
“I’m not the one trying to incite a riot!” Nikki stated heatedly. Still, even through her anger she saw the wisdom of Silver Thorn’s reasoning. “Okay,” she agreed. “I’ll try to ignore him for now. But it won’t be easy.”
A warrior approached them with a message for Thorn. While everyone’s attention was diverted from her, Nikki furtively snapped off a quick shot of Tenskwatawa with her Polaroid and stuffed the photo into her pocket. Who could tell how or when it might come in handy?
Nikki awoke the next morning to find her husband preparing for the bout with his brother. Nikki watched silently, intrigued at this new facet of her husband, of which she’d heretofore only gotten the smallest glimpse. Silver Thorn was chanting in Shawnee, evidently calling upon certain Spirits for their blessing, their help, or both. That, or he was conjuring up a spell. As he did so, he was smearing some sort of goop on his face, his torso, and arms. Since he had his back to her, Nikki could only see bits and pieces of what he was doing, but she viewed enough to surmise that he was applying what amounted to war paint. At frequent intervals, he would stop, touch his medicine bag prayerfully, and then continue.
He finished the ritual and turned toward her at last. Nikki could not sustain the gasp that rose to her lips. Had she not known who he was, she would never have recognized him, so different did he look—just as a circus clown in full makeup would not resemble the same man he was without it. The entire front of Silver Thorn’s body, including his face, was now blue. A vivid blue. On his chest, in black, was an artistic rendering of a thunderbird. Black lightning bolts adorned his cheeks, streaking outward from high on his nose to his lower jaw. Matching designs flowed from shoulders to wrists and were again duplicated on his legs. He looked all warrior now, proud and fierce and ready to do battle with his foe . . .
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