“Ernst and the others have already left for town. I’ll find Travis and let him know.”
“Tell him to hurry, Isabella. We need to get Swift Bear through this as fast as we can.”
Her face etched with worry, Isabella hurried out of the room, finding Dax, Travis, and Wyatt in the study. “Rachel needs one of the doctors. Can someone ride into town?”
Wyatt stood. “I’ll go. Does she want her uncle or Clay McCord?”
“It doesn’t matter. Whoever comes, he needs to get here as soon as possible.”
Seeing her shoulders slump with fatigue, Travis walked up to her, settling an arm over them. “Has he woken up?”
“A couple times, then he nodded off again. His temperature keeps rising and we can’t get it down.” She turned to Wyatt. “Please tell the doctor Rachel can’t find any signs of infection.”
“I will. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Wait up, Wyatt, and I’ll ride with you. I want to talk to Dutch about sending a telegram.” Dax looked at Travis, seeing understanding in his eyes.
After Wyatt and Dax walked out, Travis turned Isabella toward the kitchen. “Let’s get you and Rachel some coffee. I’m guessing neither of you have relaxed since we arrived with Swift Bear.”
Entering the kitchen, Travis stepped in front of her, pulling her close. Letting her sag against him, he felt her tremble as soft sobs began to soak his shirt. Tightening his hold, Travis rested his chin on the top of her head, stroking her back. After a few moments, she lifted her head, eyes red-rimmed.
“I’m usually not so emotional.”
“If anyone has a right to be emotional, it’s you. I’ll bet you’ve never been shot at before.”
She shook her head.
“Or seen someone shot.”
“No. Never.”
“It would shake anyone up, Isabella.”
“Not you.”
He let out a breath, a remote memory igniting of the first time he saw a comrade fall in his first battle of the Civil War. “Believe me, the first time wasn’t good. He was a friend, a man I respected. We were laughing about something a moment before the battle started. A few seconds later, he lay dead at my feet.”
Tilting her head back, she lifted a hand, cupping his cheek with her palm. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, Travis.”
Turning his face to kiss her palm, he refused to accept her sympathy. “Volunteering to fight for the Confederacy was something I had to do. I only regret not being home when my wife and daughter were sick. Maybe, well…” He glanced away, searching for a way to ease the guilt.
“From what I know of the illness that spread across Tennessee, there wasn’t anything you could’ve done. Some survived it, many didn’t. Your wife helped many people before she and your daughter took sick. I believe she was simply too exhausted to live through it.”
“And my daughter?”
She shook her head, eyes clouding. “Too young perhaps. All I know is there are no easy answers, Travis. Why did my husband become sick and die? He may have been older than me by several years, but he still had a lot of life ahead of him. I could make myself crazy trying to make sense of something that has no answer.” She glanced behind him, seeing the coffee pot sitting on the counter. “I’d better make coffee and relieve Rachel. I’m sure she would like a few minutes to rest.”
Lowering himself into a chair, Travis scrubbed a hand over his face, thinking over what she’d said. He’d spent a good deal of time over the last several years blaming himself. The self-recrimination accomplished nothing, except closing him off from Isabella and a possible future with her.
“Here. You look like you need this more than me.” Isabella handed him a cup of coffee. Picking up two more cups, she nodded toward the hallway. “I’m going to see if Rachel will take a little time away.”
“How about I sit in there with you?”
Her mouth tilted into a relieved smile. “Thanks, Travis. I’d like that.”
Isabella sat next to Travis, both watching Swift Bear’s chest rise and fall. He hadn’t woken since they brought Rachel coffee, encouraging her to leave the room for a spell. After a few minutes of coaxing, she did as they asked, closing the door behind her.
Touching a hand to the young Indian’s head, Isabella tensed. “I’m not a nurse like Rachel, but I’m certain he’s still too warm.” Dipping a cloth in cool water, she placed it on his forehead. “I don’t know what else we can do.”
“Whenever our daughter took a fever, my wife and I would put her in a cool bath. It usually worked.”
“I did the same with Jack when he was young. With the bullet wound, Rachel didn’t want to risk it until the doctor gets here.” She cast a frustrated glance at the door. “I wonder what’s taking so long.”
Travis shook his head, reaching out to take her hand. “Both Charles and Clay could be with patients. Or one may have been gone. They don’t usually leave town at the same time.”
A soft knock sounded before the door opened and Rachel walked in, followed by Clay McCord. Standing, Travis moved out of the way.
A hopeful look appeared on Isabella’s face. “We’re so glad you could come.”
Setting down his bag, he placed a hand on Swift Bear’s forehead. “I came as soon as I could. Charles is out at the Murton’s, tending to two sick children, and Horace Clausen was at the clinic, complaining of stomach pains.” Turning, Clay reached into his bag, pulling out a leather pouch. “Isabella, would you mind making a tea with this willow bark?”
“Not at all.” She took it from his hand, hurrying from the room.
Shifting back to the bed, he looked at Rachel. “What is his name?”
“Swift Bear. He’s the grandson of the Blackfoot chief, Running Bear.”
The door burst open, Bull stepping inside. “Where is he?” His gaze shot to the bed, his features stilling. “I just got back from town and heard Swift Bear was shot.”
Travis nodded to the hall. “Come with me. I’ll explain what happened.”
Bull didn’t move. “Doc?”
Clay glanced away from examining the bullet wound. “The wound is clean and I don’t see any infection, but he has a fever. Isabella is making willow bark tea. Hopefully, it will cool him off.”
“Has anyone sent word to Running Bear?”
Travis shook his head. “Dax wanted to wait until you returned. You know the chief as well as anyone, and—”
“I’ll go. Travis, would you mind explaining what happened while I walk over to the house to speak with Lydia? She was in town with me. I sent her to the house when I heard about Swift Bear.”
“Let’s go.” Travis led the way out of the house toward Bull’s place several yards away. As they walked, he described the hunt, the men pursuing Swift Bear, and how he was shot. “Isabella and I recognized him right away. We got him here as soon as we could.”
Bull stopped, his expression haunted. “Could they be the same men who attacked us after church?”
The muscles in Travis’s jaw worked. “Could’ve been. I didn’t see much…” His voice trailed off, his mind recalling the brief moments of the shooting. “I shot one in the chest. His hat flew off.” He looked at Bull. “It may still be there. I’d better go back to the spot and see what I can find.”
“We’ll both go, and we’ll take Mal. He’s a good tracker and knows Running Bear. I’ll get him. Can you be ready in thirty minutes?”
Travis nodded. “I’m ready when you are.”
Travis, Bull, and Mal searched the area, looking for anything the gunmen may have left behind. “I’m certain one of them lost his hat when I shot him.”
“They could’ve grabbed it when they hauled him away.” Bull looked under a group of shrubs.
“Are you certain this is the spot, Travis?” Mal knelt, looking at a disturbed patch of leaves.
“I’m sure.”
Looking closer, Mal reached out, touching gouges in the dirt. “Looks like someone was dragged from h
ere.” His gaze studied the immediate area. “Over there.” Standing, Mal walked to a clump of leaves covering a dark blue piece of material. “I’ve got something.” Brushing the leaves aside, he pulled out a threadbare blue Union Army hat. “Is this what you saw?” Holding it up, he walked toward Travis.
“That’s it.”
Bull stared at the cap. “Didn’t someone say one of the gunmen at the church wore a Union hat?”
Travis took the hat from Mal’s hand. “They did.” He looked at Bull. “I believe it’s time Gabe got back in touch with the colonel at Fort Connall.”
“You’re right. You head back to Splendor, Travis, show Gabe what we found. Mal and I will continue to Running Bear’s village.” Bull scanned the area, then looked back at Travis.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to ride along? Three are better than two, and there were at least five men chasing Swift Bear. Mal and I can then ride north to the fort and talk to the colonel directly.”
Mal looked at Bull. “He has a point.”
A troubled expression crossed Bull’s face, then disappeared. “I suppose you’re right. If you head back to town, it’ll be two days before a rider could get to the fort.”
Mal rubbed his chin. “It’s only half a day’s ride from the village to the fort.”
Bull lifted his head, checking the location of the sun. “Let’s ride another couple hours, then make camp. We can be at the Blackfoot village late tomorrow morning.”
Travis’s mouth drew into a thin line. “Be vigilant. I wouldn’t mind finding the miscreants who shot Swift Bear, but we don’t want to ride into a trap.”
Bull lifted his gun from its holster, checking the cylinder, his features grim. “I hope we do come across them. Anyone who’d chase someone through the forest, shooting him in the back, is in need of a lesson in right and wrong.”
Travis glanced at Mal, lifting a brow. “How about we figure that part out once we find them.”
A grim smile curled Bull’s lips. “If we come across them, Travis, I guarantee we won’t have time to figure anything out. The only thing we’ll have time to do is draw our guns.”
“There it is. Running Bear’s village.” Bull stared at the mass of tents and activity below them, feeling a tug in his chest. Drawing in a breath, he tightened his hold on the reins. “We’d best get down there.”
He looked behind them, not surprised to see the group of Blackfoot braves still following. They’d been back there for at least an hour, ready to move if the men showed any signs of hostility.
Travis followed Bull’s gaze. “Are they going to accompany us all the way to the village?”
Bull snickered. “They always have before. I see no reason they won’t this time. Let’s go.”
Following the well-traveled trail, they rode single file down the steep, rocky path, giving the horses their head. Bull kept them at a slow pace. It wouldn’t take much for a horse to lose its footing, plummeting themselves and their riders to the bottom.
Halfway down the trail, the village burst with activity. Men stood, pointing to the hillside. Women grabbed children, rushing into their tipis and closing the flaps while the braves behind them drew closer.
“The older man standing by the tipi on the right is Running Bear.” Bull lifted a hand in greeting, letting out a relieved breath when the chief returned the gesture.
Reaching the bottom of the trail, Travis and Mal stiffened when a group of young men rushed up to surround them.
Bull looked over his shoulder. “Relax. They won’t do anything without Running Bear’s approval.” Reining to a stop several feet from the chief, Bull waited for his invitation to dismount.
“My friend, Bull Mason. It has been too long.” Running Bear stepped closer, his eyes narrowing on Bull before he moved his gaze to Travis and Mal. “You have come with news, my friend. Please, get down and walk with me.”
Sliding to the ground, Bull drew in a deep breath before handing the reins to one of the waiting Indians. “Stay where you are. This may take a while.”
Following Running Bear, he remained silent, waiting until the chief indicated it was his turn to speak.
“My people are good here. Dax Pelletier and his brother have been generous with their cattle. We have plenty of food.” Running Bear glanced at Bull. “We have peace. What of you, Bull Mason? Do you also have peace?”
Taking his time, Bull thought through his response, deciding to be honest. “No, Running Bear.”
Stopping on the trail, the chief turned toward him. “Tell me.”
“There has been a shooting north of Redemption’s Edge. Your grandson, Swift Bear, was shot.”
Running Bear’s expression remained calm, his eyes widening the only indication the news surprised him. “My grandson. He lives?”
“My friend, Travis Dixon, took him to the ranch. Rachel Pelletier took care of him until the doctor arrived. He had a fever when we left, but the wound showed no infection.”
“Did Swift Bear say the name of the man who shot him?”
Bull shook his head. “From what I know, he hasn’t been awake long enough to say anything.”
Once more, Running Bear studied Bull’s face. “What of your thoughts, Bull Mason? Do you know who did this?”
Fighting the urge to take off his hat and run fingers through his hair, Bull shook his head. “What I know is not enough to be certain.”
“Tell me what you know.”
“We found a hat of one of the men. It’s all we have to try to identify the gunmen.”
Running Bear nodded, his expression grim. “Tell me of this hat.”
“Wouldn’t you rather go to Swift Bear? See for yourself he is all right?”
Shaking his head, he sat down on a nearby rock, resting his hands on his knees. “I will go to my grandson. First, tell me of this hat.”
Grimacing, Bull’s mouth twisted. “It’s a soldier’s hat, Running Bear.”
His brows lifted. “From the fort?”
“I don’t know. Travis and Mal will go speak with the leader of Fort Connall. Perhaps he will recognize it.”
Nodding, Running Bear’s gaze moved over the clearing around them, giving away nothing about his thoughts.
“Have you met the colonel?”
The chief took a moment before nodding. “I have met the tall man who leads the fort. He is a hard man.”
Bull cocked his head to the side. “How do you know this?”
A pained expression formed on the chief’s face. “I rode with a hunting party. Swift Bear was with us. We came across a group of soldiers led by this colonel.” He looked at Bull. “Colonel McArthur.”
Bull waited, not wanting to interrupt Running Bear’s thoughts. When the silence continued, he took a step closer. “And?”
“His men surrounded us, kept us there to watch.”
“Watch what?”
Standing, Running Bear moved past him toward the village. “He killed two of his men.”
Chapter Seventeen
Fort Connall
Sliding from his horse, Travis’s gaze moved around the inside of the fort, noting the number of horses in the stable, store, barracks, and stockade. He stopped on the last, seeing a pair of hands gripping the bars, a dirty face staring out.
Bull had shared what Running Bear said about the colonel’s actions, wondering about the circumstances. During the war, Travis knew the man by reputation. They were both cavalry officers, which meant the odds were good they’d faced each other in battle.
“I’m Captain Ryerson. May I help you, gentlemen?”
Travis reached into his shirt, pulling out the cap they’d found in the woods. “A group of us were hunting along Wildfire Creek a few days ago. A boy was shot by someone wearing this cap. Do you recognize it?”
Jonah grabbed the hat from Travis’s hand, turning it over. “Most of our men own a cap like this one.”
“We need to find the soldier who lost it.”
Settling clenched hands on his h
ips, Jonah’s gaze narrowed. “Why do you think he’d be here at Fort Connall? It could be anyone.”
“It could be, but I’m thinking the group of men who chased the boy and shot him came from right here.”
Shifting his weight, Jonah looked toward the colonel’s office, then back at Travis. “Is that your gut talking, or do you have proof?”
“A few weeks ago, a group of men attacked our town, killing one man and injuring a couple others outside the church. According to one person, at least one wore a uniform. A few days ago, a group of men chase and shoot a boy, leaving this cap behind. You want to believe it’s my gut, that’s fine. All I know is our sheriff, Gabe Evans, asked for help from your colonel and he refused.”
Jonah shook his head. “We’re short men.”
During the war, a comment like that most often referred to men deserting their posts.
Travis crossed his arms, his features a mask. “Meaning you have deserters.”
Nostrils flaring, Jonah glared at him. “I mean exactly as I said. We’re short men.”
Travis shot a look at Mal, who shook his head. “Look, Captain, I don’t know the reasons for hiding the fact you’ve got a group of deserters raiding these parts. All I know is they’re dangerous and don’t care who they kill. They wounded a child, killed a good man, and shot Chief Running Bear’s grandson.”
Jonah’s eyes widened. “The Blackfoot chief?”
A muscle in Travis’s jaw twitched. Drawing in a deep breath, he gave a curt nod.
Jonah’s hands fisted at his sides. “Damn those men.” Lips slipping into a thin line, his gaze moved to the colonel’s office. “Wait here.”
Rubbing his chin, Travis looked at Mal. “I wonder how long those men have been gone.”
Disgust distorted Mal’s face. “Long enough to end at least one life.”
“And maybe start a war with the Blackfoot.”
Mal shook his head. “Running Bear doesn’t want war.”
“Maybe not now. He may change his mind if Swift Bear doesn’t make it.”
“Are you men from Splendor?” They turned to see a tall, square-shouldered man wearing a colonel’s insignia stop before them. “I’m Colonel McArthur.” He didn’t hold out his hand, and neither offered theirs.
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