“Gray Feather, I am honored that you think so much of me that you would wish for me to sit at your right side in council as your son,” White Fire said softly. “And I understand the power of dreams. But, Gray Feather, what you had was just that. A ee-nah-bun-dum, dream. I cannot go with you to your village. I cannot ever consider marrying your daughter, for you see, Gray Feather, I have chosen another woman, a white woman. In time I will marry her.”
Gray Feather’s hands dropped to his sides. His eyes wavered with disappointment. Hanging his head, he walked toward the door.
Then Gray Feather stopped and gazed back at White Fire. “It is wrong for you to marry another white woman,” he said, his voice drawn. “It was meant for you to marry someone of your own skin coloring. My daughter’s skin matches yours. So does her daughter’s.”
White Fire went to Gray Feather. “You have come today bearing gifts, knowing that I have already said that I would not marry your daughter,” he said warily. “Gray Feather, please know that I find Song Sparrow beautiful and sweet. Her daughter is as beautiful, but my heart is elsewhere. Nothing can change it. I do not feel it is right for me to keep your gifts,” he added softly.
“I brought gifts to you,” Gray Feather said, his voice harsh. “They stay with you.” He turned and left the cabin.
White Fire went to the door and watched the chief ride away. He felt as though he had done something as bad as betray the chief, yet he knew that there was no reason for him to feel such guilt. He had never once promised to stay with the Chippewa.
And although he felt as though he owed the chief for having rescued him from the Sioux, he just could not allow himself to be coerced into doing something that he felt was wrong, just as a thank-you for having been given back his life. He would find a way to thank Gray Feather, someday, some way. But not like this.
He stared moodily at the horizon.
He paled and gasped when he saw Flame riding in a hard gallop along the horizon, away from the fort.
Fear struck at his heart at her being alone. He wondered what had caused her to leave in such haste, her flight seeming to be one of anger and desperation.
“Her father . . .” he whispered, thinking that her father may have fiercely questioned her about being gone so long on her horse today. If he forbade her to go again, White Fire knew her rebellious nature could have caused this hasty flight, careless though it was.
Closing the door behind him, White Fire ran to where he had left his horse. He leaped into the saddle and rode in pursuit of Flame. He could never get the threat of the Sioux from his mind.
He couldn’t understand why she didn’t understand the extent of the danger. Was she too stubbornly blind to realize what could happen to her out here, alone?
From the time it took to get to his horse and mount it, Flame had ridden out of sight.
Desperation filling his heart, White Fire searched in all directions, seeing her nowhere. Frustrated, he finally drew a tight rein.
His eyes searched the forest.
Had someone grabbed her? Was she already a captive?
These thoughts sent him into a breathless gallop. When he still did not find her, he rode to a high bluff, and watched the fort, hoping that he would see her return.
Then he finally saw her riding toward the wide gate, and quickly entering. His shoulders relaxed and he sighed heavily with relief. This time she had made it safely home. But what about the next?
His jaw tight, White Fire knew now that he must not hesitate for too long in asking her to marry him. For certain she would be much safer with him than her father.
He understood how hard it would be to reason with her father about the quickness of their marriage. But haste must be taken, or Colonel Russell might not lose his daughter to White Fire, but to renegade Indians instead!
The thought sent chills up and down White Fire’s spine.
Chapter 16
When this life is o’er, love,
With all its joys and jars,
We’ll leave behind the wind and fire,
To wage their boisterous wars,
—R. W. Raymond
For the second day in a row White Fire was abruptly awakened from his sleep. Again, someone was knocking on his door.
Recalling Flame having come so early the day before, he wondered if she had come again. He then remembered his concern about her, when he had seen her leave the fort in a frenzied flight on her horse.
He wondered again what might have caused her to leave the fort in such a rush. Her father?
His heart skipped a beat when he thought of who else it could be this morning. The colonel could have sent for him for a talk, if Colonel Russell had learned that she had been with White Fire yesterday.
The knocks persisted at the door, and his jaw tight, White Fire left his bed and dressed quickly in his buckskins and moccasins.
Pushing his long hair back from his face and shoulders, he went to the door. He hesitated before opening it.
Then he swung it open and his heart sank to see that his guess had been right about who might be there.
It wasn’t Colonel Russell, but it was a soldier from Fort Snelling. The colonel had sent the lieutenant to fetch him.
“Sir, Colonel Russell wants you to accompany me to the fort,” Lieutenant Green said, standing square-shouldered in his blue uniform. The saber at his waist picked up the shine of the sun and reflected it up into White Fire’s eyes.
Not questioning the soldier as to why the colonel would summon him, White Fire lingered long enough to grab his rifle. Stiffly, he went outside, and saddled, then mounted his horse. Then he rode off with the young lieutenant. “How long have you been at Fort Snelling, Lieutenant?” White Fire asked, trying to ease his anger over being summoned. White Fire expected to be scolded by the colonel like he was some mischievous schoolboy. Today he would make sure this never happened again. He would put the colonel in his place.
And if the colonel saw fit to still try to dictate his life, White Fire would find some other means of employment. He could trap and sell pelts until he made enough money to make a comfortable life for his son. He knew enough about trapping to get rich in six months.
That would also be the way he would provide for his wife, for he would marry Flame, no matter how her father might threaten him. Or Flame.
White Fire would protect Flame with his life, especially against a tyrannical father.
She was old enough to know her own mind, her own heart.
“I came on the same riverboat that brought Miss Reshelle to the fort from St. Louis,” Lieutenant Green said. “I was at Fort Jefferson Barracks for two years, training to live in the wilderness.”
“And you prefer the Minnesota Territory over St. Louis?” White Fire asked, watching the wide gate of the fort as they approached it.
“Yes, sir,” Lieutenant Green said, smiling. “I hope to stay here for many years.”
Lieutenant Green then turned to White Fire. “Your father, Colonel Dowling, is used as an example at Fort Jefferson Barracks,” he said, drawing his eyes quickly to him. “He is much admired. He was the epitome of what an infantry officer is about.”
White Fire swallowed hard. His eyes wavered as, in his mind, he saw his father in his freshly ironed blue uniform, the brass buttons shining.
As a child, White Fire had followed his father around, eyes wide in admiration of his handsomeness in his uniform, and his square-shouldered way of walking.
“How did you know that he was my father?” White Fire blurted out, riding onto the parade ground with the lieutenant.
“You are a part of the conversation when people speak of your father,” Lieutenant Green said, smiling. “Everyone knew how proud your father was of you even if you are a ’br—”
White Fire’s insides tightened when he realized that the lieutenant had stopped just short of saying the word that had been like a thorn in his side ever since that first person had called him—a ’breed. He looked away from the lie
utenant, and rode on up to the officers’ quarters without him.
As he dismounted and tied his reins to a hitching rail, White Fire studied the four horses tied alongside his. He saw markings on the rumps of the horses in the shape of hands. They were markings of the Sioux.
His gut twisted at the thought of coming face-to-face with any Sioux now, after having just been released from Sioux captivity.
But realizing that Indians were there surely to meet with the colonel, made White Fire forget about his thought that he might have been summoned because of his relationship with the colonel’s daughter. He was surely asked there in the capacity of interpreter.
His right hand clasping his rifle tightly, and with Lieutenant Green again at his side, White Fire glared down the long corridor that led to Colonel Russell’s office. He tried to prepare himself for whoever was waiting there, be it a Sioux that he might know, or a Sioux who was a total stranger to him.
A Sioux was a Sioux and his enemy!
The young lieutenant stepped aside and stayed outside in the corridor as White Fire went into the colonel’s office.
When White Fire saw who was there, with three of his warriors standing at the back of the room, their arms crossed, he took an unsteady step backward. It was the very Sioux who had taken him hostage.
White Fire could hardly believe that Chief Shining Turtle had the nerve to return to the area, especially after having been escorted back to his village by Chief Gray Feather’s warriors.
It was for certain that the Sioux chief did not fear the wrath of the Chippewa, knowing that, if needed, he could draw the many local bands of Sioux into the fight.
Colonel Russell rose from his chair. He walked from behind his desk and offered White Fire a hand. “I’m glad you came,” he said, his voice tightly drawn.
“I need you to interpret for me. The Sioux chief came into my office, unannounced. It is obvious he has come for council.”
White Fire shook the colonel’s hand, then sent a dark frown Shining Turtle’s way. “Then you do not know why he is here?” he said, glancing over at the colonel. “It is for certain that you cannot trust this Sioux chief. For three years I was held captive by him. It is ironic that it would be I who would be interpreting for him.”
“Will you do it for me?” the colonel asked, placing a trembling hand on White Fire’s shoulder. “Can we cast aside our own personal feelings long enough to . . . to get this son of a bitch out of my office?”
White Fire looked sharply at the colonel. “It would be easy for me to walk away and leave you with the problem at hand,” he said. “But it would serve no true purpose. Yes. I shall interpret for you.”
The colonel started dragging chairs close to his desk. “Tell them to come and sit by my desk, and we shall have council,” he said, giving the Sioux chief an uneasy glance over his shoulder.
“They will not sit in chairs,” White Fire said, shoving the chairs aside as quickly as the colonel slid them in place. “The floor will suffice.”
“The floor?” Colonel Russell grumbled, frowning. “Do you mean I am going to have to sit on the damn floor?”
“If you wish to have council, yes, the floor will have to do,” White Fire said, a mischievous gleam entering his eyes.
He waited until the colonel eased himself to the floor, sitting with his legs crossed, his hands resting on his knees. Then, White Fire went to the Sioux and talked to them in their language and told them to come and sit on the floor in a circle with him and the colonel.
His arms folded stiffly across his bare chest, Chief Shining Turtle stared sullenly for a moment into White Fire’s eyes. Then he spoke to his companions.
Their breechclouts brushing against their copper-colored, muscular legs, the chief and his three warriors went and sat down in a circle with the colonel. White Fire sat down in the center.
Soon the dialogue began. White Fire knew enough Sioux words to be able to translate their desires to the colonel.
“The recent Chippewa attack on Chief Shining Turtle’s encampment, when Chief Gray Feather came for his daughter, and at the same time freed me from my captivity, robbed Chief Shining Turtle of many of their supplies and warriors,” White Fire explained to the colonel. “After they were ushered home by the Chippewa, they found twofold hardships there than when they had left to trap and sell pelts on the banks of the river close to Fort Snelling. They have come to seek your assistance. They need provisions for their children and elderly.”
“There are more bands of Sioux than just this one,” Colonel Russell mumbled, his knuckles whitening as his grip hardened on his knees. “Ask them why they do not go and pester—no, do not use that word. Ask them why they do not go and seek help from their brothers at the other Sioux villages?”
Seeing the colonel’s lack of respect for the Sioux, which meant that he surely lacked the same respect even for the friendly Chippewa, caused White Fire to dislike him even more than before. Yes, it was true that White Fire himself had no liking for the Sioux. But it was not in him to ridicule them, for he knew that the Sioux had learned their manners toward whites after being mistreated by the whites.
He turned toward the Sioux chief. “Why do you not go to your Sioux friends at the other villages and ask them for assistance instead of asking white eyes?” he asked.
“Because my friends and brothers are as poorly as I,” Chief Shining Turtle said glumly. “It is not so much because of the recent Chippewa attack on my people as it is because of the white eyes that the Sioux are put in the position of begging. And tell this white eyes soldier that it just makes the Sioux hate the white eyes more and more because of being put in this position.”
“If you hate them so much, how can you take from them?” White Fire could not help but ask.
“Because we care more for our children, women, and elderly than we do for our pride,” Chief Shining Turtle said tightly.
“Do you not feel even the least bit awkward coming and asking this of the white eyes after you kept me, their friend, captive at your village?” White Fire asked, even though he knew that this was not a part of the dialogue expected by the colonel.
“You were a captive, but you are still alive, are you not?” the Sioux chief asked, his eyes suddenly gleaming.
“Yes, that is so,” White Fire said warily.
“I will say no more about it, for that should be enough for you,” Chief Shining Turtle said, his lips tugging into a smug smile. Then he frowned. “Get answers I need so that I can return to my people.”
White Fire sighed, then turned to the colonel. “Are you going to give them supplies?” he asked, his voice solemn.
“What would happen if I didn’t?” Colonel Russell said, glaring at the Sioux chief.
“What would happen?” White Fire said, arching an eyebrow. “Do you really wish to test the chief and see?”
“Then you are suggesting I give into his demands?”
“Colonel, although I carry much bitterness and resentment inside my heart for this particular Sioux chief, I urge you to help him. Mainly to keep down hostilities.”
“Then it shall be done,” Colonel Russell said. He looked from warrior to warrior, then looked into White Fire’s midnight dark eyes. “Tell the chief that he will be given as many provisions as he feels are required to ease the hunger and discomfort of his people. Then you, personally, take him to the commissary. Oversee exactly what they do take. Make sure they do not take more than what seems right in your eyes.”
White Fire nodded, then conveyed this to the Sioux chief.
Chief Shining Turtle was pleased. He smiled. But he didn’t offer any sort of friendly handshake to the colonel. He and his warriors followed White Fire to the commissary.
White Fire stood aside as the Sioux chose food, blankets, and even some white men’s clothes.
After these were secured in tight bundles on their horses, White Fire exchanged a lingering stare with the Sioux chief. Then he watched him and his companions ride out of t
he wide gate of the fort.
Curious as to whether or not the band might travel onward to their village, or make camp for the night and leave on the morrow, White Fire swung himself into his saddle and followed. He kept far enough back not to be seen.
After he traveled for some time, never allowing Chief Shining Turtle to get out of sight, White Fire drew a tight rein, and slid his horse quickly behind a thick covering of brush when he saw many Sioux warriors waiting for the chief.
Some waited on horseback. Others rested on the banks of the river next to their beached canoes.
White Fire knew the Indians in the area well enough. He mentally counted how many Sioux were there waiting on Chief Shining Turtle. There were several Sioux from many bands.
It was at this moment that he realized that by having urged the colonel to give the Sioux the provisions, he had averted an attack on Fort Snelling. It was apparent, by how the Sioux were armed and by how many there were, that they had come together to help the Sioux chief who had lost so much. They had been ready to launch an attack had Chief Shining Turtle returned to them with nothing.
Sweat pearled White Fire’s brow to realize just how close the fort had come to becoming the target of the Sioux’s anger.
He looked over his shoulder in the direction of the fort, where the woman he loved was trustingly within its walls, unknowing of the threat that lay so close.
He shuddered and looked in another direction, toward Pig’s Eye, where his son would have surely died also, had the Sioux become enraged enough to spill white men’s blood today.
Loud, mocking laughter brought White Fire’s eyes around again. He stared at the Sioux as they opened the many bundles of provisions and showed them to their friends.
White Fire Page 10
