Cassandra Austin

by Trusting Sarah

  “Sarah,” he breathed, his grip tightening on the rifle. But in an instant, he knew she wasn’t there. He recognized the two bodies as Bull and Herman. He walked swiftly around the perimeter of the camp, checking for signs of a flight into the trees, terrified that he would find her body away from the others.

  He found a spot where horses had been tied and where they had been led away, the same horses whose trail he had been following. He found several places where moccasined feet had stepped into the clearing but only one where they had left. The Indians had taken Sarah!

  He went back to the bodies. Both men were missing their boots. Herman’s coat and pants had been taken, as well. Herman had an arrow in his throat, and Bull had been cut several times, and his clothes were burned. Near Herman’s hand was a pistol. River lifted it and could smell the powder. There had been no time to reload for a second shot.

  The campfire had burned itself out. Stirring the ashes, River found a few sparks; the fire hadn’t been out for long. The metal blades and gears of a coffee grinder turned up in the ashes. A few feet away lay a smashed wooden box.

  Curious how only part of the coffee grinder would have ended up in the fire, River lifted a piece of the box. Turning it in his hand, he saw the corner of a carved leaf. This was no coffee grinder; this was Sarah’s jewelry box. He knelt and lifted the rest carefully. Pieces fell away as he turned it over. A dirty white envelope was wedged between the splintered sides. He stuck the envelope in his pocket before dropping the pieces to the ground.

  He came swiftly to his feet. There was nothing else to be learned here. He knew their direction, and he knew he had no choice but to follow. There was no time to bury the bodies, he decided quickly. Sarah was more important.

  He walked quickly to his horses, mounted the black and rode through the camp, past the bodies and onto the trail the Indians had followed. The sight of the two dead men bothered him very little, but the memory of Sarah’s jewelry box, smashed to pieces, haunted him.

  * * *

  River lay on his stomach in the tall grass and watched the Sioux village. An hour ago, when he had found where the braves had stopped to prepare for their entrance into the village, he had left his horses and crawled to the top of a nearby rise. He was too far away to see much, but he couldn’t get closer without being seen.

  For three days he had followed the trail. He was certain the Sioux hadn’t been aware they were followed or they would have hidden their trail more carefully. Among the tracks he had often seen the print of Sarah’s small shoes. That sign of her continued health had always been enough to restore his hope and energy.

  He slid back down the rise to the horses. He didn’t have many choices. Gathering up the lead rope, he swung onto the black. The pinto, he reasoned, would be more likely to behave, but he would need to ride the black to control him. In a moment, he was on the trail again. The ground was torn by horses’ hooves, probably from the braves’ last headlong dash into the village.

  He kept the horses to a steady walk. Riding in would be relatively easy; riding out would be difficult. Sudden activity told him the alarm had been sounded, and women and children had been sent to safety.

  All Indians, especially Sioux, admire bravery, he reminded himself. “Perhaps they’ll sing songs about me,” he mumbled. “After they kill me.”

  Dead, he would do Sarah no good, but he could find no other choice. If he went to the army for help, this village would move, or Sarah would be traded long before he got back. No, he had to handle this alone, as best he could.

  Close to the village, four young men on horseback came at a run to meet him. They screamed at him, controlling their mounts with their knees as they shook their feathered lances. They circled him twice, and River nodded his approval, keeping a tight rein on the black as he kept his horses moving at a steady pace. The riders took up positions around him and escorted him into the village.

  River dismounted and raised his hand as a sign of peace to the three elders who waited to meet him. “I am Saves Child from River,” he said in broken Sioux and sign language. “I come as a friend of the People.”

  The elders watched him for a long moment. River stood relaxed as if he were merely visiting some neighbors. He was aware that several braves were looking over the horses and the supplies on their backs. Finally, one elder spoke in English. “Deer Tracks has heard of Saves Child from River.”

  The man didn’t seem inclined to say anything more. River hoped his smile looked friendly; any sign of impatience would be understood as nervousness.

  Deer Tracks spoke again. “What has brought you here?”

  “I’m looking for a woman, one of my people.” River spoke in English but used sign language, as well, not wanting anyone to feel left out of the conversation. “One of my people,” he repeated in Sioux.

  “She is here.”

  River smiled. “Good. I thank my friends for taking care of her.”

  “I heard the story of the girl child who fell into the river and the bluecoat who pulled her out and pushed life back into her body. We will give you the life of this woman as payment for the child.”

  A brave wearing a cavalry coat stepped forward. River couldn’t help but wonder about the coat’s previous owner. Of course, many a mountain man wore buckskins he had taken off a dead Indian.

  The brave spoke quickly in his own tongue, obviously objecting to Deer Tracks’ words.

  Deer Tracks considered for a moment, then spoke to River. “Running Elk says the woman belongs to him. He saved her from bad men, and now she is his.”

  River watched Deer Tracks and Running Elk for a moment, keeping his poker face firmly in place. Deer Tracks had shared this news without any comment of his own, and River guessed that no decision had been made yet. He had a feeling the outcome hinged on what he did.

  “I agree with Running Elk,” he said, directing his signs to the brave. “They were bad men. I thank him for taking her from them.” He paused, turning his attention to Deer Tracks. “Sarah is already my woman, my wife.”

  Running Elk turned to him, anger in his eyes. “You no protect her,” he declared in English. “Running Elk protect her!” He folded his arms and stuck out his chin. In his mind, the matter was settled.

  River tried to keep his expression bland while he considered his next move. The elder could advise the villagers, but his word wasn’t the law. River would have to deal with the young brave.

  He had opened his mouth to speak when a commotion at the far end of the village attracted everyone’s attention. River moved forward to see and found his arms caught on either side by strong men. Running Elk headed into the middle of the activity while the elders looked on with mild curiosity.

  * * *

  When the warriors brought Sarah into camp, she was so tired she barely knew what was happening. They had marched for days, eating only at dawn and dusk, and sleeping but a few hours. Before they reached the village, they had stopped and painted themselves and the horses. Sarah had been afraid they were about to raid another tribe, and she would find herself in the middle of a battle. Instead, they had made a noisy entrance into their own village, where they were greeted as heroes.

  The warrior with the blue coat seemed to claim her. He had kept a close eye on her and had been the one to give her food. She was uncertain if he was the leader. He may have been in charge of her because he spoke a little English. Running Elk, he called himself.

  At the village, he took her to a hide-covered structure and turned her over to two women. They were dressed in long buckskin skirts and wore braids just like the men. They pointed out a pile of furs, indicating that she should sleep there. The place smelled of smoke and animal hides, but Sarah was too tired to care. After the last few days, she probably smelled even worse.

  She didn’t know how long she slept before the women woke her. They had some kind of mush they wanted her to eat. She was hungry and took it eagerly. With the rest and the food, the numbness that had settled on her brain
began to lift. Bull and Herman were dead, but she was in as much trouble as ever—and so was River. He would follow. When he did, he would face an entire tribe instead of two men.

  She discovered her hands were no longer tied and rubbed the rope burns as she looked around, trying to think of a way to escape. Could she possibly run away and stop River before he got to the Indian camp?

  The older of the women was chattering at her, and Sarah looked up in mild surprise. The woman held a small pottery jar out to her as she knelt on the hides. It smelled foul, and Sarah drew away. The women laughed.

  As Sarah eyed the jar suspiciously, the woman pretended to dip her fingers into it, rubbed them on her own wrist, then held the jar out to Sarah again. Understanding, Sarah took it and rubbed the greasy unguent on the scraped skin.

  As she started to hand the jar back, the grinning woman touched the neckline of Sarah’s dress. Sarah drew away, but the woman persisted, touching a tender spot. She remembered then the rope Bull had put around her neck days ago. Most of the soreness had disappeared. She took the woman’s advice anyway and smeared the salve on her neck, as well.

  “Thank you,” she said, handing the jar back to the woman.

  “Thank you,” the woman repeated, haltingly. Both women giggled. Instead of taking the jar, the woman touched two fingers to her own nose and cheeks, indicating that Sarah should put the salve on her sunburned face. Sarah wrinkled her nose and shook her head, pushing the jar into the woman’s hands.

  A distant shout caught the younger woman’s attention. She lifted the flap that covered the doorway and went outside. Soon she was back, chattering excitedly to her companion. They both eyed Sarah and fell silent, listening. After a moment, the young woman went to look outside again but was pulled back by the other.

  The camp became unnaturally quiet, and the women waited expectantly. There was a last burst of noise, the yells of braves similar to those at her own arrival, then silence. Sarah tried to imagine what might be happening. If another tribe was attacking, surely they would do more than hide in their tents. If more warriors were returning, why weren’t these women greeting them?

  Suddenly Sarah knew. River had come! She was on her feet and out of the lodge before the women could stop her. She saw a group of men across the village and ran toward them. She heard shouts behind her, and Indians were running from all directions. Slipping by one after another, she ran across the village. She caught a glimpse of River, captured securely between two warriors.

  “River!” The scream escaped from her burning throat.

  She ran headlong into Running Elk. He grabbed her around the waist, lifting her with one arm. Sarah thought she was going to be returned to his lodge, and she kicked furiously, trying to break his hold. He set her down in front of him, her back pinned against his chest by a hand on each arm. She swung her head to get her tangled hair out of her face and found herself standing only a few feet from River.

  She stopped struggling to stare at the face she had thought she might never see again. “River,” she whispered. His arms were gripped by two fearful-looking warriors, but his face was composed. His eyes seemed to reach out to her, and she knew he wanted to hold her as much as she wanted to run to him. He nodded slightly, as if to reassure her.

  “My woman!” announced the man who held her.

  Sarah resumed her struggles immediately, trying to bang her head against the hard chest behind her.

  “Calm down, Sarah!”

  “I’m not your woman!” she growled through gritted teeth. Her efforts hurt her own arms more than her captor.

  “Calm down, Sarah!”

  This time River’s words penetrated the panic. She went limp, her head hanging as she gasped for breath.

  With a wave from Deer Tracks, the warriors that held River stepped away. Running Elk’s grip didn’t loosen, however. Sarah watched River, glad the Indians seemed to trust him but still frightened for him.

  Deer Tracks spoke. “Prairie Fire thinks she is woman to Saves Child from River.”

  “No!” Running Elk responded. He talked emphatically in his own tongue.

  Deer Tracks nodded and turned to River. “Running Elk says she belongs to him now. He does not choose to return her. You are free to leave.”

  River smiled at Running Elk, intentionally avoiding Sarah’s eyes. There was no way to make her understand. He spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. “I can understand Running Elk’s claim. It is true, as he said, that I did not protect her. I know a Sioux will not take a woman that belongs to another Sioux brave. I am not Sioux by blood but some of your people have called me brother. And remember, Prairie Fire did not leave me by her own choosing.”

  Sarah saw the flicker of amusement in River’s eyes as he used the name Running Elk had given her. She felt a surge of anger; there was nothing funny about their situation. Judging by the grip Running Elk kept on her arms, River’s words were having very little effect on him.

  River took a casual step toward Sarah and Running Elk before he continued. “I am willing to trade,” he said. “A horse for the woman.”

  River saw Running Elk look past him at the horses. He thought he saw a glint of interest in the dark eyes, but the resolve quickly returned. He would have to take another tack.

  “Perhaps you would like to prove that you can protect her better than I can. I will fight you for her.” He heard Sarah gasp, but his eyes remained locked with the young man’s. He watched him slowly nod.

  Sarah found the hands gradually releasing her. The instant she was free she propelled herself toward River. He wrapped his arms around her and held her as tightly as he dared. She was trembling, and he wanted nothing more than to comfort her and promise that she was safe. But she wasn’t. Not yet.

  As gently as he could, he drew her away. “I love you, Sarah,” he whispered.

  She raised her eyes to meet his and held them there. “I love you, River,” she choked. She could read a silent plea to trust him, and she wanted to be strong for him. But wouldn’t it be better for him to ride away and leave her here than for him to die and leave her here?

  “No,” she murmured. Taking a deep breath, she spoke more forcefully. “No. You won’t fight for me. I’ll stay. I want to stay.” Tears betrayed her at the last, and she brushed them away, the smell of the salve making her eyes water even more.

  River removed his jacket, smiling gently at Sarah as he handed it to her. “No one believes you, sweetheart. And you could show a little more confidence in my ability to fight.”

  Frustration completely overruled caution. She threw the jacket on the ground. “This is stupid! I won’t let you two fight over me! Don’t I get any say in this at all?” She stomped her foot and turned to Running Elk, fear nourishing her fury. “You! You saved my life, and I’m grateful, but that doesn’t mean I belong to you!”

  She swung back to face River. “How dare you try to trade for me!”

  River’s eyes took in the men’s reactions to her outburst. Deer Tracks and the other elders watched with amused interest. Running Elk looked completely stunned.

  Aware that it would do nothing to cool Sarah’s anger, River grinned at his adversary. “You’re the one who named her Prairie Fire. Would you care to reconsider my offer?”

  He watched the young man struggle for a second before staring at him with his former determination. River slowly turned toward his horses and then leveled his gaze on the warrior again.

  Running Elk shook his head. “We fight. You die. I get woman and both horses.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sarah stood between the two women, clutching River’s jacket to her heart. The fight hadn’t taken place immediately as she had assumed. It seemed it was to be the day’s entertainment. A place was chosen, and everyone came to watch the sport. Some sport, Sarah thought in horror. One of these two men will die. She was praying with all her heart that it wouldn’t be River.

  She looked around at the circle of eager faces and shuddered. If River ki
lled the young warrior, would he have to fight the rest in order to leave? She searched her mind for some way to stop the fight, but she had already tried. No one, not even River, had paid much attention to her.

  Finally River and Running Elk stepped forward. Running Elk had removed his coat, as well, leaving his bronze chest bare. River rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, circling away from Running Elk until he was ready. He pulled the bone-handled knife from its sheath at his thigh and advanced on the Indian.

  Tears clouded Sarah’s vision as she watched them circle each other. Sunlight glinted off Running Elk’s blade as it flashed dangerously close to River’s chest. She muffled a scream in the jacket, afraid any distraction could get her lover killed. The crowd around her had no such concern and yelled encouragement to their favorite.

  River’s knife slashed toward the warrior in the same manner, then they circled again. Sarah buried her face in the jacket for a moment, but she had to know what was happening. She tried to blink away the tears.

  River watched his opponent spring to avoid his knife. They were still measuring each other, testing the other’s reflexes. In weight and strength they were evenly matched; it was speed and skill that would determine the outcome.

  River didn’t look at the crowd; he didn’t dare think of Sarah. Without warning he lunged forward, catching Running Elk’s knife hand in his left and thrusting with his right. Running Elk caught his hand and they struggled, each trying to draw first blood with one hand while keeping the opponent’s knife away with the other.

  River twisted closer, bringing his knee up hard against the Sioux’s right elbow, and the knife fell. As he brought his leg down, he hooked it around the warrior’s knee and pulled him off-balance. They fell to the ground, Running Elk still keeping River’s knife away.

  Running Elk brought his knees up and planted his feet in River’s stomach. River was thrown backward, and a whoop went up from the crowd. While River fell back against spectators who thrust him forward, Running Elk scrambled for the knife.