“David strong warrior…brave heart.”
Mitchel turned. Chief White Cloud had crowded close to the hearth, warming his old bones by the fire as was his wont when the weather grew cold. “Yes. But it is God Almighty who gave him courage and made him strong.”
The old chief nodded, pulled the blanket he clutched closer around his bony shoulders. “That good. Maybe so Almighty God do samelike with you.” His keen gaze sharpened. He stared toward the open door, squatted, picked up two small pieces of wood and drummed on the firebox. “You know two trapper come all time to mission?”
Mitchel frowned, tried to follow the old Indian’s thoughts. “Bonner and Turner? Yes. I remember.”
“Last time come, you sell horse. They go away.”
“Yes. Bonner’s horse broke a leg in the hills and they had to shoot it.”
White Cloud shook his head. “They lie from their bad hearts. They no trap animals. They kill my people, steal furs.” He looked up, fastened a stern gaze on him. “Halstrum hide furs in house that growls like angry bear.”
Mitchel stared at the old Indian, speechless with shock. He’d never known White Cloud to lie—color the truth and exaggerate, yes—but not lie. So this wasn’t only about Anne. He sucked in air against the sudden, sick feeling in his gut and squatted on his heels facing the chief. “I’m sorry your people were killed, White Cloud. But I’ve never seen any furs. Are you certain Halstrum had a hand in this? Are you sure he hid furs Bonner and Turner had stolen from your people in the gristmill?”
The chief nodded, drummed out a staccato beat. “Horse no break leg. Fast Like Wind shoot with arrow. Trapper kill Fast Like Wind, run to mission. Halstrum hide fur. Trapper buy horse, go fast to fort, take boat to town by big water so my people no kill.”
The sick feeling in his gut worsened. He rose, motioned to White Cloud. “Come with me to the mill. If Halstrum hid the furs we’ll find them and you can take them back to your people.”
The chief pinned another keen glance on him. “You sit. Furs not in house that growls.”
He stared at the Indian, his thoughts tumbling, landing where he did not want them to go. He had to ask, but he was afraid he already knew the answer. “Where are they?”
“Halstrum take in wagon to fort. Wagon go on boat to town by big water. My people see. Little Elk follow. My people wait.” The old chief’s eyes glittered up at him. “Trapper come back, hide in hills. Him wait for my people to catch much furs. My people watch trapper. Watch Halstrum come back. Watch you.”
The drumming took on a beat that raised the hair on the back of his neck. “I didn’t know about Halstrum and the furs, White Cloud.”
The chief looked up and met his gaze, nodded. “All same, Eagle Claw and Limping Bear—he who speak sharp words about your God—have much anger. Him heart is bad toward you. Fast Like Wind him brother. I talk truth, tell Eagle Claw and Limping Bear you have good heart toward my people. They no hear. They tell my people you have bad heart. You make wagon fix. You take furs and run to town by big water likesame Halstrum.”
His stomach roiled. It made horrible sense in a twisted way. He fixed a stern look on the chief. “Those are false words from a bad heart, White Cloud. I would not steal from your people. My God says it is bad to steal. He would be angry with me.”
The chief grunted, continued drumming.
He pressed his case. “My heart is good toward your people. I feed all who come. None leave my mission with hunger in their bellies. I give your people meat when the days are short and the mountain snows deep and the hunting bad. I teach them to know the white man’s ways. I teach them to know Almighty God. My words are straight. Hear my words now.”
The chief glanced up.
Please, Lord, let him believe me. “Eagle Claw and Limping Bear spoke truth about the wagon. I have fixed it. But the rest of their words are false words from their bad hearts. White Cloud knows my daughter lies in bed with sickness upon her.”
The chief’s gaze sharpened, the drumming stopped.
“There is a doctor…a healer…at the new town. Rain and cold are bad for my daughter’s sickness. I need the wagon to keep the rain and cold from my sick daughter when I take her to the doctor. That is why I fixed the wagon. That is why I asked Spotted Owl to tell me where the village sits. My words are true.”
White Cloud stared down at the hearth. The fire whispered and crackled in the silence. Mitchel sat back on his heels and waited.
The chief tossed the pieces of wood into the fire and lifted his head. “You open ears, hear my words. You no go in wagon. My people say you have bad heart, attack wagon. You wait Halstrum come, make wagon safe.” He pulled his blanket about his shoulders and rose.
Mitchel surged to his feet, extended his hand. “Thank you for the warning, White Cloud. My ears have heard your words. It is good to know your heart is still good toward me, my friend. My heart is good toward you and your people always.”
The old chief dipped his head, pulled his arm back under the blanket and walked to the door, looked back. “Eagle Claw and Limping Bear seek blood. You watch good. Keep knife and tomahawk sharp. You no David. Stone no good.”
Boot heels thudded against the floor. Anne placed the cover over the bowl of bread dough she had placed in the basket to set for tomorrow and lifted her head. Her heart lurched. Mitchel was striding toward her, a pistol and a lantern in his hands. She looked at his set face and stepped around the work table to meet him. “What is it, Mitchel? What’s wrong?”
“I’ve decided it would be best if you were able to protect yourself in case I’m…not around.” The muscle along his jaw twitched. “Get your cloak and join me out back, Anne. I’m going to teach you to shoot.” He pivoted toward the back door.
“Wait!” She grabbed hold of his arm.
He looked down at her hand, turned and looked into her eyes.
She caught her breath, brought her hand back to press at the base of her throat. “I—” It was only a whisper. She tried again. “I know how to shoot, Mitchel.” She got control of herself, lowered her hand to touch the Colt Paterson revolver he was holding. “William had pistols like this one. He taught both Emma and me to shoot with them. It turns out we were both quite good at it.”
“Aiming and hitting a target is one thing…” That muscle along his jaw twitched again. “Could you shoot an Indian?”
Tension radiated off him. She lifted her gaze to his face, found it ensnared by the look in his eyes. Her stomach knotted. “Are we talking about Eagle Claw?”
His eyes darkened. He gave a curt nod. “And his brother. Perhaps a few others.”
“Oh, Mitchel…” She swallowed against a sudden surge of bile pressing at her throat, clenched her hands, lifted her chin. “Yes. I could shoot Eagle Claw to protect myself or…or someone I— Someone in danger.” His daughter! She swallowed hard again. “I’m so sorry I have brought this trouble on you, Mitchel. But it will stop if I leave. I’ll go at dawn tomorrow.”
She pressed her hands to her temples, her thoughts racing. “If you will loan me a horse, I will pay Spotted Owl to take me to the emigrant village.” She shot a look at him. He seemed about to explode. “I’m an excellent rider, and Spotted Owl will bring the horse back to you.” She looked away. “You are welcome to the things I brought in the wagon in exchange for the loan of the horse. Emma has all I will need…”
“That’s enough!”
She glanced at him, took a step back. She’d never seen anyone look so angry.
He stepped close, locked his gaze on hers. “I have never heard anything so foolhardy. Your skill as a rider will be of no avail when you know nothing of the country or of Indian ways. You will remain here until Halstrum returns and I take you to the village.”
“No, Mitchel. Think of your daughter. Of what would happen to—”
Pain flashed in his eyes. “I am thinking of Hope. I’m thinking of us all.” He set the lantern and pistol on the work table, walked over and barred the kitchen
door. “Should we be attacked here, or on the trail, I will welcome your shooting skill. It might make all the difference.”
He came back, held out the pistol. “Keep this with you at all times, even in the schoolroom—especially in the schoolroom. And here in the kitchen where the door is never barred.”
She thought of him out in the fields, or in one of the outbuildings and the bile pushed at her throat again. “You will need the pistol.”
“I have one.” He thrust the Colt Paterson toward her. “This one belonged to Paul. Do you know how to load it?”
She nodded, willed her hand not to tremble as she took the pistol.
“Anne.”
His voice had gentled. She looked up, sucked in her breath at the pain, the sadness in his eyes.
“The danger is not because of you. I found out this evening it has to do with Halstrum. I did not know, but it is I that have placed you in danger by allowing you to stay here at the mission. All I can do now is try my best to keep you safe until Halstrum comes back and things are…resolved… We would be in great danger if we left before then. So no more talk of leaving…please.”
Her heart ached to help him, to take the fear and sadness for his daughter from his eyes. She curled her fingers around the cold, hard steel of the weapon and nodded. “I’ll stay.”
Chapter Twelve
Mitchel filled the second bucket with the dying plants and vegetables, straightened and rotated his shoulders while he gave a casual glance around.
Movement caught his eye. He tensed, looked toward the trees on the wooded trail that led to the hills. Joe Means’s squaw and children walked from the shadowed area into the open, their arms loaded with branches, more than was needed for the night. They moved to their tepee, dumped their loads onto a pile of branches large enough to supply firewood for several days and headed back to the woods.
He frowned, glanced up at the sky. Dusk was falling, but the sky was clear. There was no sign of a storm in the offing. Still, Indians had an uncanny way of knowing when the weather was going to take a turn for the worse. He eyed the dwindling stack of firewood beside the kitchen door. Spotted Owl must have gone off fishing again. He’d bring more wood from the large pile behind the smithy tomorrow. It would give him an excuse to stay close to the mission house and schoolroom.
He did another quick scan of the area, picked up both buckets and hurried toward the pig sty. The braves who normally helped him had gone off somewhere, and he needed to be done with the chores and in the house before night fell. He would be at a serious disadvantage in the dark should Eagle Claw or Limping Bear strike. He was no woodsman, and Indians could move as silently as shadows.
The porkers snorted and came running, milled about, bumped against the fence. He dumped the buckets, slapped the ham of a large sow trying to crowd the other sows from the feed, grabbed the hind legs of a piglet and pulled the squirming, squealing creature out of the water trough. It burrowed between the legs of a full grown sow and, small hooves digging at the mud, shoved its way into the center of the pile of plants and vegetables.
He picked up the buckets, walked to the river and dipped them in the water, set them on the bank and swiped his wet hands on his pants. He took another casual look around, skimmed his gaze over Halstrum’s cabin and the idle gristmill.
Adam Halstrum…a thief.
The thought sickened him. He didn’t want to face it. Didn’t want to believe he had brought a wolf among the sheep he’d come to tend. But Chief White Cloud’s words made sense of things he’d noticed and pushed aside as not worth troubling about. Things like the way Bonner and Turner suddenly showed up at the mission when he’d never seen them on the trail, and always at night. He’d simply assumed it was natural for men who trapped animals in the wilds to travel at night. Now he knew it was because the sins of men like darkness. But they never had furs with them. So how—
He turned, stared at the idle mill wheel, suddenly, acutely aware of the gurgle and slap of water against the wheel paddle that was half buried in the river that powered the mill. A river that drained the surrounding mountains. He lifted his gaze, followed the meandering course of the tree-lined banks to the hills beyond. The winding river provided a perfect, hidden back door approach to the gristmill—to Halstrum, who would have hidden the furs while the trappers came on to the mission house. No wonder he’d never seen Bonner and Turner coming. But the Cayuse had. And they believed he had a part in it all.
A chill chased through him. He stooped, grabbed hold of the bails on the buckets and carried the water back to the sty. Halstrum knew the Cayuse and their ways. He knew that if the Indians discovered their furs were being hidden at the mission, they would seek revenge. And he, unarmed, and innocent of any knowledge of the lost Indian lives and the stolen furs, would be unprepared to defend himself or Hope.
Anger flared, burned like a hot coal in the pit of his stomach. The man had driven off with his sons and his ill-gotten gain in the wagon without a thought for the fate of a helpless, sick two-year-old. And Halstrum knew the Cayuse’s vengeful, warring ways. He knew.
The muscles along his jaw twitched. He dumped the water into the trough, hung the buckets on a fence post and headed back to the mission house, the grunts, snorts and squeals of the feeding pigs fading with every long, muscular stride. Adam Halstrum had a lot to answer for. And he would…if he lived to reach the mission.
If.
The full weight of the precarious position he was in hit him, froze his feet to the ground. Fear uncoiled, turned the burning coals in his stomach to ice. Did Halstrum plan to return? Or was leaving him here to suffer the Indians’ revenge part of the scheme?
No. That didn’t figure. He took a breath, hurried on toward the house. White Cloud said the trappers had already returned. That they were hiding in the hills waiting for the Indians to begin their winter trapping. They didn’t know the Cayuse were watching them. And neither did Halstrum. He would be back. His greed would bring him back. And then the Cayuse would kill him. And Bonner and Turner. But would that be enough to quell their anger, to slake their bloody thirst for revenge? Could Chief White Cloud hold the Cayuse warriors in check once they had been loosed on the war trail? Or would they come after him, also?
He opened the door, stepped inside. The warmth of the fire, the faint odor of dinner cooking greeted him. His heart ached, his breath caught. It was all so peaceful…so like a home. And it was all a lie. They were surrounded by danger. Almighty God, be with us I pray. Give me wisdom to know what to do to save Hope and Anne, and the strength to do what is needed. Save us, Almighty God! I ask it in the name of Your Son. Amen.
He took a deep breath, pasted a cheerful smile on his face and went to check on his daughter.
“So Chief White Cloud told you that Eagle Claw and Limping Bear want to…to kill you because they do not believe you are innocent of the fur theft that resulted in their brother’s murder?”
“Yes.” Mitchel looked down at Anne, so lovely and elegant, even with shock that approached horror filling her eyes, and a thought struck him so hard it took his breath. The consuming anger he’d been fighting to control flared. “I never should have told Eagle Claw you were my woman.”
She gave a small, trembling wave of her hand. “You thought you were protecting me, Mitchel. And I’m sure if Eagle Claw and his brother lead the Cayuse warriors in a revenge attack on the mission, nothing will keep me safe.” She rose from the settee and stepped to the hearth. “Certainly, hiding my red hair will not help. I no longer need this.” She removed her turban bonnet, tossed it into the fire and turned back to face him. “I learned one very important thing from watching our wagon master as we came west to Oregon country, Mitchel. Mr. Thatcher anticipated…problems, and was always prepared. Have you a plan?”
He lifted his gaze from the burning bonnet and studied her. Anne Simms was a courageous woman. The shock was still in her eyes, her voice quavered, but there was determination in her squared shoulders, the tilt of her chi
n. Burning her bonnet had been defiance. Perhaps a denial of her fear. “Yes. But I shall need your help.”
She gave a small nod.
His stomach knotted. Lord, help me. Lead me in the way that I should go. Don’t let me err, Lord. “Chief White Cloud warned me not to use the wagon until Halstrum returns because the Cayuse would misunderstand my purpose and attack.”
Her gaze locked on his, demanded truth. “And do you believe Mr. Halstrum will return?”
He nodded. “Adam does not know the Cayuse are aware of his complicity in the fur thefts. As long as he thinks it is safe, I believe his greed will bring him back.” He took a breath. For her safety, she had to know all of it. “What I don’t know is if the Cayuse will spare any of us when they come after Halstrum.”
She stared at him, the fear in her eyes growing. “Your child—” Her voice broke. She raised her hand to the base of her neck, rubbed at her chest, drew a breath.
He noted her pallor, the tremor in her hands, and hated himself for adding to her distress. But he had to…for Hope. “Yes. I need you to help me with Hope.”
Her eyes closed. He thought she was going to collapse. He took a step toward her, stopped when she opened her eyes and looked at him. “What must I do?”
“I don’t know what will happen, Anne. But I want us to be prepared to leave at any moment if I sense there is a greater danger in staying. If the Cayuse attack, they will likely strike Halstrum’s cabin and the gristmill first. That will give us a few minutes to escape. We’ll not be able to use the wagon or horses. They leave too plain a trail. So, as we will be walking, we must pack very light, take only the barest necessities.”
“The ointment…”
“Yes.” His throat closed. Rage shook him. He forced it down, concentrated on laying out his plan. “I have chosen a path through the hills to the emigrant village. It is a long way around, but I am hoping that will throw any warriors who may come searching for us off our trail. I’m hoping they will think we will head for Fort Walla Walla as it is closest to the mission.”
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