Frontier Father

by Dorothy Clark

  She caught her breath, heard Iva behind her, whispering to Running Wolf.

  “Two trappers, you say?” Halstrum’s voice was tight, gruff.

  “Yeah, fellows name of Bonner and Turner. Don’t know what they done, but them Cayuse was mad as hornets and twice as mean.” The man slapped his hat back on his head. “If Banning makes it back, tell him I traded horses. Mine’s plumb wore out and I’ve got to get to the fort and warn them.” He ran off.

  If Banning makes it back. Her heart seized, her lungs froze. The quivering took possession of her body.

  “What’re we gonna do, Pa? If the Cayuse have Bonn—”

  Halstrum spun on his son. “Shut yer yap. Let me think!”

  His angry voice caught her attention, snapped her out of her momentary paralysis. She took a deep breath.

  “The Cayuse must’ve found Bonner and Turner stealing their furs.” Halstrum rubbed his hand over his chin, looked up at his son. “They’ll soon tell the Cayuse our part in it. We’ve got to get out of here.”

  He turned back, looked toward her. No, beyond her, toward the children. She read his intent in his narrowed eyes. Anger steadied her. She slipped her hand into her pocket.

  “Get them kids, Seth. The Cayuse won’t attack us if we’ve got their kids with us.”

  The young man turned.

  She pulled the pistol from her pocket, leveled it and thumbed back the hammer and placed her finger on the trigger. “You’ll not touch these children.”

  Halstrum lunged.

  She shot.

  He dropped to his knees, cursing and clutching his shoulder.

  His son stared at her, crouched, poised to attack.

  She leveled the pistol at him. “Tell your son to stay where he is, Mr. Halstrum. The shot in your shoulder was not an accident. I never miss my mark. Now please leave. I have no wish to kill either of you. But I will, if you try to take these children.”

  Halstrum wiped the anger from his face, struggled to his feet. “Be reasonable, lady. We’re dead if we try to run without those kids for protection.”

  Outrage made her hand tremble. She took a breath to steady it. “You should have thought of that before you stole the Indians’ furs, Mr. Halstrum. Now leave.”

  The man’s face tightened. He pivoted and headed for the door. “Come on, Seth. I gotta stop this bleeding. There’s no place to run. We’ll fort up in the gristmill.”

  She rushed to the door, watched them run toward their cabin, turned back. “Hurry children! It’s not safe for you to stay here!” She motioned them to come outside. “Run home! Quickly now. Don’t let them see you!”

  She shoved the pistol in her pocket, gave Iva and Kitturah a little push to start them on their way, turned to Running Wolf. He was simply standing there. “Run home, Running Wolf! Quickly! Go!” She reached for his shoulder to urge him on.

  He stepped back, shook his head. “You go! It not safe you stay.”

  Her heart swelled. She shook her head. “I’ve nowhere to go, Running Wolf. Now hurry!”

  He grabbed her wrist. “You come. Me show you hide.”

  Tears stung her eyes at his concern. “I cannot go. I have to take care of Mitchel’s child.” She loosed his hand from her wrist, whirled and ran for the door to the parlor. He would go when she was inside.

  What should she do about Sighing Wind and Laughing Rain? She rushed into the house.

  “Paa-p-paa!”

  The sobbing cry froze her in her tracks, then lent wings to her feet. She ran to the child’s room, found her propped in her bed, the stick doll in her hands. She glanced around, saw no one. She took a breath to calm her racing pulse, leaned over the child and smiled. “Hush, little one, don’t cry. It’s all right, I’m here.”

  She heard a sound behind her, spun. Running Wolf stood in the doorway, the cloak she had left in the schoolroom in his hands.

  “Not safe, here. You bring her. Come hide! Come fast!”

  She stared at his set face torn with indecision. What about Mitchel? If Banning gets back. “All right. Thank you, Running Wolf. Wait here!”

  She snatched her cloak from his hands, swirled it around her as she ran out into the parlor and up the stairs. She grabbed the pillowcase and rushed back down. “I’m ready.” She handed him the pillowcase, leaned over Hope and wrapped the blankets around her, feeling the child’s soft whimper in her very soul. She scooped her up into her arms. “We are going for a walk, Hope. Won’t that be fun?”

  The small blond head nodded against her shoulder. “Me go see horsey?”

  “Not this time, Hope. Perhaps next time.” She blinked the stinging tears from her eyes and followed Running Wolf outside.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Running Wolf hurried past the tepee. Anne slowed, glanced inside the opening. Kitturah and Iva and their mother were gone. A shudder ran through her. With every moment, every step, the danger became more real.

  “Me want Papa.”

  The child’s sob was soft, frightened.

  “I know, Hope. We will see Papa tomorrow.” Oh, how she hoped it might be so! She adjusted her grip on Hope to ease the burden on her arms and increased her pace to keep up with the young Cayuse boy. He veered off the path, entered the deep woods. She hesitated, looked back toward the mission buildings. Smoke drifted from the chimneys, mixed with the falling snow. It all looked so peaceful.

  “You come!”

  She started at the hissed words, nodded and plunged into the darkness beneath the trees. Running Wolf strode ahead of her, walking with the sure-footedness of a child striding down a walkway in Philadelphia.

  Dusky light fell through the overhead branches. She quickened her steps, anxious not to lose sight of the white pillowcase he carried slung over his shoulder. Her toe bumped something. She stopped, looked down, fearful of tripping over a fallen branch or exposed root with Hope in her arms. It was a stone. She stepped around it, looked up. There was nothing but darkness ahead of her. “Running Wolf!”

  He appeared from out of the darkness. “You no talk. Trees have ears.”

  “I couldn’t see you.”

  “Whah! Forget you have white eyes.” He took hold of her cloak, marched straight into the darkness. “You get down. Hurt head.”

  She ducked. Something brushed the pile of curls on the crown of her head. She took a firmer grip on Hope and bent lower, walked with hesitant steps in the direction of the tug on her cloak.

  “You get up.”

  She straightened and looked around. Dim light filtered through narrow slits in a layered rock arch overhead. He tugged her cloak, pulled her toward the darkness ahead. A trickle of water came from the depths. A dark shadow along one earthen wall turned into a log as they neared.

  “You stay here.” He put the pillowcase down, swept his arm around the shadowed area. “No go there.” He indicated the lighter area, pointed to the slits above. “You no talk. Warrior hear, come see.”

  He stepped farther into the darkness. She stared after him, made out his small form kneeling on the ground when her eyes adjusted to the lack of light. There were soft rustling, brushing sounds. He bent down, straightened, did something with his hands then rose. A fire, little more than a candle flame in size, gleamed bright, chased away the darkness around it. Her heart lifted.

  “You come.”

  She moved to his side, a student, learning from her teacher. At his right, a heaped pile of short pieces of small branches took form. At his feet, the tiny fire licked happily at four short pieces of branch arranged like a tepee.

  “You no make fire big. Smoke go up. Warrior smell smoke, come see.” He bent down, picked up a small piece of branch in each hand. “You plus one and one, no more.”

  The instructions were given in a barely audible whisper.

  She nodded. “I understand. I’ll not add more than two pieces at a time.”

  He started away, came back, pointed to Hope. “Her cry, warrior hear long way. You make stop.” He covered his mouth with hi
s hand, nodded. A frown knit his dark brows together. “I hide track, warriors no find you. You no go outside make more track. Big fight done, warriors go, you go outside. Go fort. Go down river to town by big water. Be safe.”

  “Running Wolf.”

  He turned back at her whisper.

  “Thank you for helping me, for hiding us.” She swayed, patted Hope who was beginning to whimper. “And thank you for the fire. It’s—” her voice broke “—comforting.”

  He drew himself up straight, stuck his small chest out. “You friend Running Wolf. Save from white man with bad heart. Running Wolf save friend from Indian with bad heart. All same good.”

  She blinked tears from her eyes, had a sudden longing to hug the proud, nine-year-old warrior but knew it would embarrass him. “And Mr. Banning is also your friend, Running Wolf. He is the one who brought me here to teach you the white man’s ways so you can trade with them. And he is my friend. And the child’s father.” Her voice choked again. She cleared her throat. “If Mr. Banning comes home, please bring him to us.”

  “Him come, me see, me bring.” He turned and disappeared.

  Silence. Nothing but the trickle of water. A shiver slid down her spine, slipped down her arms and legs.

  “Me c-cold. Me want P-papa!”

  “I know, Hope. I know.” She wanted him, too. Oh, how she wanted his quiet strength to lean on. She pushed the enervating thought away. Mitchel was not here, she was alone. And his daughter needed her.

  She glanced up at the slits in the rock arch. Was the light growing dimmer? Her stomach knotted at the thought of total darkness. Thank goodness for the fire. Still, she would have to hurry.

  She sank down onto the end of the log closest to the fire and smiled at the toddler in her arms. “I have a surprise for you. Do you like surprises?”

  Hope stared up at her, her blue eyes swimming with tears.

  “I made you some clothes to keep you warm. And a big girl cloak like mine.” She drew the bag close, pulled out the small piece of India-rubber cloth she’d had left over and spread it on the ground close to the fire with her free hand. It was large enough to protect a pallet for Hope.

  She reached in the bag again. “See these pants. They will keep your feet nice and warm.”

  “Papa wear pants.”

  “Yes, he does.” A lump filled her throat again. She unfolded the blankets. Tears welled into her eyes at the sight of the red flannel wrappings on Hope’s joints. She slipped the pants on over the toddler’s little feet, pulled them up to her knees. “Can you stand up for me, while I pull them on, Hope?”

  The toddler, nodded. “Me a big girl.”

  “Yes, you are. It will be cold when I take off your blankets, but the clothes will make you warm soon.” Anne stood her on the piece of rubber sheeting, pulled the pants up and tied them at her waist. “Do you want to play a big girl game?”

  Hope stared up at her, nodded.

  She dropped the blankets onto the sheeting, stripped off the too-small nightgown and slipped the new warm cotton one on over Hope’s blond curls. She put her face close to Hope, filled her whisper with suspense to hold the child’s interest while she dressed her. “We are in a secret place. And while we are here we must speak very quietly. And not ever, ever speak or cry loudly.” She eased the toddler’s arms into the sleeves of the nightgown, draped the floor-length, wool-lined, India-rubber cloak about her little shoulders, pulled the hood up and tied the ribbons under her tiny chin. “Can you whisper like me?”

  “Me whisser.”

  Anne smiled. She could hardly hear her. “That’s very good, Hope.” But would a toddler remember? She finished tying the cloak closed, then folded one of the blankets into a thick pad and laid it on the rubber sheeting. The other she folded for a cover.

  “Would you like me to tell you a story while you eat a biscuit?”

  “Me like aminal story.”

  “All right.” She lifted Hope onto her lap, handed her a biscuit from the bag, then pulled her own cloak over the toddler for extra warmth. Hope snuggled into the curve of her arm, rested her head on her chest and took a bite of biscuit.

  Tears welled at the feel of the small body in her arms. Hope was so little, so precious.

  Almighty God, please protect Hope. Please help me to care for her. And please, please bring her father back to her. Oh, God, please save Mitchel. Please let him be alive.

  The prayer rose unbidden from her heart. She leaned back against the earthen wall and swallowed back another rush of tears. She had not prayed since Phillip and her precious baby had died. But here in the cave, with the toddler in her arms, the dim light fading, and danger all around, it felt right to pray. In the middle of the trouble and the worry and the heart-stopping fear, God was real to her again.

  She cleared her throat, looked down at Hope’s adorable face and began to whisper an “aminal” story. “Once upon a time there was a little girl who had a pony named Pepper…”

  The violent shivering woke him. The fire must be out. Mitchel frowned, raised his head to rise from bed. Pain clamped on his temples, sent shafts of light exploding behind his eyelids.

  He opened his eyes, stared into a swirling darkness. Bile climbed his throat. He rolled his head to the side, let the sourness spew out of his mouth. The pain of his movement brought another surge of nausea, and another.

  He struggled onto his hands and knees, let his head hang down between his trembling arms and retched his stomach empty. His body ached. His head pounded. And his upper, left arm had a line of searing heat across the muscle.

  He wanted to shake his head to clear it, to make the swirling stop, but he didn’t dare. The pain was too great. Fear clutched his empty gut. What was wrong with him?

  Hope! Who would care for Hope if he were ill? He drew his body backward to try and get into a position so he could rise. Rough, gritty soil rubbed against his dragging palms. He froze, closed his eyes as it all came roaring back—Eagle Claw’s attack, and the ensuing fall off the cliff.

  The shivering made him want to cry out for mercy. It made every ache and pain worse. But he welcomed them. They meant he was alive. Oh, God, let it be only me the Cayuse wanted. Let Hope and Anne be safe. Protect them I pray.

  He opened his eyes, blinked away the blurriness, stared at the spinning, moonlight-silvered pile of dirt and gravel beneath him. Help me, Lord, help me! He drew in a long, slow breath, exhaled and drew in another, prayed. The whirling stopped. Thank You, Lord, for Your mercy.

  He took another breath, lifted his head. Moonlight shadowed rocks and boulders at his side. If he had struck those… He braced himself for the pain, placed his hand on the rock nearest him and pushed himself erect. His legs were wobbly, but they held his weight.

  He rested against the tallest rock to let the throbbing in his head subside, glanced at the glint of moonlight on an object sticking up from the crack between two rocks on his right. A knife.

  He moved slowly along the pile of boulders, reached to grasp the weapon, drew back. Eagle Claw’s broken body lay wedged among the rocks. He stared at the dead Indian, fought the fogginess to order the thoughts tumbling through his head.

  Why hadn’t the Cayuse come for Eagle Claw’s body? Red Squirrel knew the ambush spot. Or hadn’t he returned? Perhaps he didn’t know Eagle Claw was dead. Or was he not talking to spare himself Chief White Cloud’s anger? Or perhaps night had fallen before they could reach this place? Or had his earlier thought been correct, and Halstrum had returned, and the Cayuse had been busy raiding the mission? So many possibilities. But no matter which was true, he had to get out of here. The Cayuse would come for Eagle Claw. And he was in no shape to fight them.

  His gut tightened at the notion. He picked up the knife, slipped it into the sheath on his belt and looked about to get his bearings. Red Squirrel had ridden in from that direction, but he would have to stay away from any trail.

  He scanned the area for more weapons, then started over the pile of boulders. If he could
reach the creek on the other side, he could follow it out of the valley.

  Pain flared with his every move, streaked through him with every step. He gritted his teeth and climbed faster, the need to know that Hope and Anne were safe driving him on.

  Anne shivered, added two small pieces of branch to the dwindling fire and glanced at Hope. She had again comforted the frightened toddler and coaxed her to sleep on the pallet, but the child was hurting.

  Anger boiled. She rose, paced the area the light of the fire reached, shot a glance at the slits in the stone arch, discernible now only as a lighter darkness. It must be the middle of the night. Surely, there were no warriors around to smell smoke if she built a real fire. It would ease the child’s discomfort and fear. And burn up all the wood before daybreak, leaving them in total darkness. No, better the suggestion of warmth and the comfort of the light.

  She pulled her arms through the slits in her wool cloak and wrapped them around her waist. If only she could stop shivering. But the cold went bone deep. And Hope’s joints already ached from her sickness. She could only imagine how the toddler must hurt.

  She looked over at the sleeping child and her stomach knotted. She didn’t know what the future held for them. But if something should happen to Mitchel or Hope or her, it would be because of Mitchel’s helper Halstrum and his two trapper partners in the fur thefts from the Cayuse. This time she would not blame God.

  Where was Mitchel? Tears surged. Sobs pushed at her throat. She ran to the log and sat, yanked her hands from inside her cloak, grabbed the hem of it and held it against her mouth to stifle the cries she could not stop.

  What would happen to them? To Mitchel, to Hope—

  What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee.

  The words of Scripture flowed into her heart and spirit—the body-racking sobs eased. Yes. This time she would not blame God. This time she would trust Him.

  She wiped the tears from her cheeks, closed her eyes and lifted her heart to God in prayer.