Lone Eagle would kill Peyton for sure. “What do we do?” she said, not once taking her eyes from Lone Eagle. “They are far too close to the fort. Oh no, Lone Eagle is planning to attack while everyone is preparing for Christmas. Peyton, we’re just in the way.”
“We could run for it.” Peyton turned in the saddle to take a better view of the country around them. “Can we outrun these Comanches? There are another forty or fifty Comanches on the other side, and they are moving in around us. The Kiowa is behind this, I’m sure.”
She focused on Lone Eagle. “He can’t see my fear,” she whispered. “But I am afraid.”
“Me, too, sweetheart. We fooled ourselves into believing our wedding could take place without problems from Lone Eagle. I really wanted to spend the rest of my life with you.”
Katie peered into his face. “I love you, Peyton, and I’m sorry to have brought you to this.” She looked to the ridge again. “Perhaps I should try to talk to him. Maybe—”
“Don’t put your own life on the line for me. I’m a soldier, remember? We’re supposed to be heroes.” He paused. “You know, I can’t picture myself letting Lone Eagle take you from me without a fight. And we’re close enough to the fort that rifle fire will warn the others of the attack. This bay has won a few races, and your horse is sure-footed. I want to bet on outrunning them.”
“I’m ready when you are,” she whispered. “God be with you, Peyton, because Lone Eagle will try to kill you first.” She wanted to add her apology, that this was her fault. But the race for their lives stopped her.
Chapter Seventeen
Katie silently cried out for more time. She needed to tell Peyton all those things dear to her heart—those words she’d savored for their wedding night. This was all her fault! She had been the one to insist upon riding so far from the fort. Her own selfishness had gotten them into this death trap. Too many words were left unspoken, and she feared she would never have another chance to tell Peyton how much she loved him.
Dear God, I’m scared. Lone Eagle will kill Peyton. I don’t care what happens to me, but please watch over Peyton. He’s the innocent one. I’m sorry for being so selfish and stubborn. It’s my fault, and I know it. All Peyton has ever done is try to protect and love me. Oh God, he can’t die because of me!
Peyton spurred his horse north, away from the trail toward the fort. Katie dug her heels into the sides of her horse and joined him. They raced side by side as the warriors sped down from the ridge. Comanche war cries echoed in every direction, and the foreboding screams urged her mount on faster. She leaned low against its neck just like Pa had taught her and vowed not to look behind. It would only slow down the escape. She stole a glance at Peyton. Like her, he bent over his horse’s neck. Even with the weight of the saddle, the bay ran like a bolt of lightning. Their horses’ pace made her think they might have a chance. Both animals lunged into the wind as though they sensed the impending danger. Every muscle was conditioned to respond to the rider, but so were the Comanche horses.
Peyton had led them north, then he circled back south around the ridge. The Comanches didn’t expect him to head away from the fort, and their braves were concentrated on the south side. The warriors would have to race down the ridge and across the flat terrain to catch them. The sound of advancing Indian horses pounding against the hard ground met her ears. The hooves hammered louder, and she knew Lone Eagle and his warriors were not far behind. Peyton’s move had bought precious little time.
The crack of rifle fire broke into the chase. She smelled the pungent odor of sulfur and heard the bullets whiz past her. Katie tensed. She could endure a rifle shot and not slow the horse’s pace. A prayer flashed across her mind: Dear Lord, please keep Peyton safe from Comanche fire, and don’t let me slow him down. She refused to be the cause of the Comanches overtaking her and Peyton. Determined to outrun the Indians, Katie’s focus saw the flesh rip away from Peyton’s shoulder slightly above his previous wound. The sight of blood and the anguish that must be riding with him intensified the gravity of their situation. Fright blinded her from seeing anything but a vision of Peyton lying mutilated, like the bodies of the Lawrence family. He didn’t dare allow the Comanches a chance to torture him.
She hurried her horse closer to his mare’s side. Their mounts heaved heavily with the speed, and a sheen of sweat glittered from their sides. A steady stream of blood soaked his shoulder down to his wrist.
“Get out of here,” he said. “Pull away from me.”
“No!” Katie cried against the piercing cold. “I won’t leave you.”
Her eyes fixed on the path ahead of them, and she could see several of the warriors moving around an outcropping of rock to position themselves in their path. It would only be a matter of moments before she and Peyton were overtaken. Only an angel of God could save them now. Silently she prayed death would come quickly to Peyton. Lone Eagle knew how to make him pay greatly for her foolishness.
She remembered the times when she heard God’s whisper calling for her to trust Him. Have Peyton and my lives existed for this moment? Are we to die together, or will Lone Eagle force me to watch Peyton’s slow torture? Lord, please save him from this.
Another bullet tore away the lower skirt of her dress. For a moment, she wished the warrior’s aim had ended the pursuit. She quickly pushed the thought aside. She would not be known for inviting death as an easy way out.
Up ahead, something diverted the warriors’ attention. Comanche braves scattered in different directions. What were they planning? The band clearly dispersed, providing a clear path ahead. Katie didn’t understand their strategy. It seemed useless to ambush when they held her and Peyton in the midst of them.
Katie strained to hear a peculiar sound. Was that rifle fire to the front of them? In her delirium, could it be the Comanches’ shots merely echoed in an endless circle? She squinted to see beyond the warriors. Were those images really riders headed this way? Could it be blue uniforms racing to meet them? She recognized the stance of one of the colonel’s scouts. God had heard her prayers. Soldiers rode toward them at breakneck speed, firing straight into the Comanches. Katie saw two warriors drop and another lose his horse. The hope must have given Peyton strength to continue on because he rode faster. They were going to make it to safety.
The brush of an unseen rider alarmed her. In the next instant, an arm snatched her from the horse’s back. It happened too quickly for her to fight or scream. She flew suspended in the wind with only the arm of her captor balancing her between life and death. Terror numbed her senses as a scream rose and fell in her throat. Helpless, Katie watched her horse travel straight into the path of safety without her. The warrior pulled her quivering body in front of him. He angled his horse away from the pursuing soldiers and raced toward the hills. She stared down at the scarred arm wrapped securely around her. She recognized the markings. Without a doubt Lone Eagle held her captive.
The struggling proved useless. The more she fought against Lone Eagle, the tighter he pulled her body to his until the pressure against her stomach forced her to cry out. Consciousness escaped her as she fell prey to momentary blackness. How well she understood the plight of a snared animal, and visions of Pa’s traps tore across her mind. The agony of enraged animals would cower to pitiful whimpers from the pain of the trap’s teeth. Death would be welcomed in the face of hideous pain.
Each time she twisted or tried to peel away from the warrior’s arm, he gripped her waist and drew her body closer to him. She fell limp into periods of darkness where only her sense of sound prevailed with the steady labored panting of the animal beneath them.
The horse slowed to a gallop…a trot…then a walk. Wearily she fought the suffocating blackness…if only Lone Eagle would release his hold upon her. But didn’t she want death? Wouldn’t the grave be a warmer place than surrendering to the warrior?
“Would you like to live?” Lone Eagle whispered in her ear. His breath against her neck sickened her. She stiffened. His
words brought her back from a haze.
The sound of Comanche words flooded her mind with memories. She recalled a little girl hanging on to Pa’s hand. Quickly the child transformed into a girl who played with the Indian boy. Then she became a young woman. She held the hand of Lone Eagle and walked with him up a mountain path. What had happened? Pictures of the Lawrence family lying in grotesque positions in the back of their wagon flashed vividly before her. Lone Eagle’s imperative question pressed against her senses, but she failed to reply. She didn’t want to live, except the God who gave her life must be the One to take it.
“Would you like to live?” Lone Eagle repeated. His anger clearly tipped his words. He lifted a knife to her throat. The icy sharpness against her skin sealed any desire to die at his hand.
“Yes, I want to live.”
“My wife will not run away?” Lone Eagle said.
The blade deepened across her throat. “No, I will not run away.”
“Two warriors die because of you. But the white soldier is dead. He fell from his horse when hit by another bullet.”
He was wrong. She had seen Peyton ride straightway toward the soldiers. Lone Eagle wanted her to believe Peyton had died. He must think she’d not try to run away if there was no one to return to. Lone Eagle might rule her future, but he would never rule her heart.
Exhaustion played upon her body, and the cold cut through to her bones. Her stomach ached and cramped from the force of Lone Eagle’s arm. She attempted to ignore the pain so she could think. She had to pray.
The Comanche village came into view. Being here seemed like a lifetime ago; for sure she was a different person. She stretched to see if anything had changed. It looked as peaceful as she remembered, but the friendly people who once looked at her as one of them no longer existed. Lone Eagle had lost warriors in getting her back. She knew the plight of Comanche slaves. It would be a life worse than death. Men and women alike would beat and torture her for no other reason than to claim their superiority. She wanted to know the plans Lone Eagle had for her. He’d called her his wife—but in what fashion?
Lone Eagle slid down from the back of his horse. A crowd formed around the warriors. Some cheered, and others looked sullen due to the deaths of the two men. Katie’s appearance brought no reaction. Perhaps they thought she wanted to return to them.
Lone Eagle pulled her down from his horse. “Go to my teepee.”
Katie did not protest. What good would it do?
She waited inside until the need to relieve herself became too great. Her stomach hurt from Lone Eagle’s rough treatment, and all she really wanted to do was sleep. No one stopped her outside the teepee, but she felt the eyes of everyone piercing through her.
She waited for him until dusk, preparing food for him as were her duties.
Lone Eagle lifted the flap of the teepee and stepped inside. His presence filled the small dwelling, but she didn’t feel his domination drawing her to him as in the past. She took a deep breath and lifted her eyes warily to see his response.
A look of contempt and hostility challenged any rebellion she might have fostered. If Katie had wondered if the Comanche still held any feelings for her, the question vanished in a single glance. Why had she thought he might have mercy?
“I have food for you.” She was determined he would not see her fright.
A silent, angry stare served as a reply. He took a position near the food and began to eat. She hesitated then kneeled beside him.
“Lone Eagle, I can’t stay here with you tonight,” she said.
His hand instantly flew to the side of her face, sending her sprawling to the side of him. She tasted the blood trickling from the corner of her mouth, but she refused to cry out. It would only invite more of the same.
“Please let me explain,” she said. “It’s my woman’s time.”
His hand raised to strike her again, but she buried her face in her hands. “You liar,” he said in a low voice. “Tomorrow you were to marry the white soldier.”
“A woman doesn’t always know about such things,” she said, forcing herself to look at him. The warm flush of humiliation crept up her neck.
“If you lie, I will peel the flesh from your bones.”
“I am telling you the truth.”
“Get out of my teepee until your time is over.”
Chapter Eighteen
Katie followed the familiar path to Desert Fawn’s teepee. Their relationship began when Katie first came to the village. After Mary Colter’s death, Jeremiah entrusted Katie to Desert Fawn’s care. He could not be consoled, neither could he care for the child properly. The Indian woman sheltered and nurtured her in those early years, and the little girl soon attached herself to the old woman. Katie called her Grandmother, and the two formed a bond of love and companionship. Now what were the feelings for Katie as Lone Eagle’s captive?
She understood Pa’s intense grief over losing his wife and infant son. The couple had put their mistakes behind them to build and share a future together. In his mind, he had lost everything he treasured. By burying Mary’s Bible, he marked his desperate rebellion against God. For a time, it looked as though he had gone mad, especially when he left Katie with Desert Fawn and took to the mountains. Upon his return, he adopted the Comanche ways. He passed the test of a warrior by proving himself in battle and earned a title of distinction when he saved Swift Arrow’s life. She did not ask how he obtained the title of a warrior, but later she learned what Jeremiah had done.
He abandoned and seemingly forgot the customs of his own people. He loved his little girl, but he devoted more time to the traditions and culture of the Indians. She saw him cast aside the practices of the white man and take on all the characteristics of a warrior. During this significant transition in his life, Katie learned many lessons about Indian life from Desert Fawn. If not for Comanche children teasing her about the color of her skin and hair, she would have forgotten her white heritage.
As she deliberated upon those days, the truth settled upon her. The biggest difference in Pa’s and her life lay in how they reacted to tragedy. He turned from God when her mother died, and she drew closer to Him when he died. Katie would not be disillusioned over the Creator of the world.
Confusion mixed with gratitude met her as she pondered over her unexpected woman’s time. Never had she considered it a blessing, but it did provide a few more days of freedom before Lone Eagle claimed her. Not that it changed the inevitable, except she could spend the days in prayer for strength and grace to endure the future. Comanche culture demanded she not sleep in her husband’s teepee during these days. It also stated she could not eat meat, comb her hair, or wash her face. Before Katie resumed normal activity with her husband, culture demanded she bathe in the icy river.
Perhaps God intended to better prepare her for the role of Lone Eagle’s wife. Oh God, please speak to me. Help me to accept what You plan for my life and to be content in all circumstances.
She couldn’t fulfill her responsibilities to Lone Eagle alone. He was so angry, and according to his customs, he had a right to punish her however he chose. Different scriptures came to mind. She could recall the words but not always the books, chapters, and numbers of the verses. Papa and Elizabeth had done their best by her, and she’d go to her grave loving them…and Peyton.
She stopped in front of Desert Fawn’s teepee. Trepidation halted her steps. Had Lone Eagle expressed his anger and distrust to everyone in the village? Would the grandmother she loved now be turned against her?
She hesitantly opened the flap of Desert Fawn’s teepee. The old woman labored over a pair of winter boots made from buffalo hides. The woman rolled moistened sinew on her knee until it formed a point and could be threaded through a bone needle. Desert Fawn had made many pairs of winter footwear and beaded moccasins for Katie. As a child, she had watched the old woman sew garments, and her skill still fascinated Katie.
“Desert Fawn,” Katie whispered.
The old woman t
urned in disbelief, and with open arms they reached for each other and shed quiet tears. Katie fondly remembered her many wrinkles, and the leathery hand stroked her hair as though she was a child again.
“I’ve missed you,” Katie finally said. How good to have someone who loved her when life seemed torn apart.
“Why are you here, little one?” the old woman said.
Katie didn’t know how to tell her without showing disrespect for Lone Eagle. “Lone Eagle brought me.”
Desert Fawn merely nodded. She knew the truth.
“Can I stay with you for a few days?” she said. “It is my woman’s time.”
The old woman smiled. “Sit by the fire with me. You can watch me stitch moccasins like you were a child again.”
God had granted Katie peace for a little while.
The following day would have been her wedding day. Katie tried to center her thoughts on the meaning of Christmas and not the ugliness separating her from Peyton, but it didn’t stop the continuous lump in her throat.
The next two days passed quickly. One of Desert Fawn’s sons invited them to follow a buffalo hunt, and the two trailed behind with the other women. When the warrior had killed the animal, she and Katie skinned it, dressed the meat, and packed it on a pony to return to camp.
“It seems like a long time since we have prepared buffalo for winter,” Katie said. “You always work faster than me at jerking out the pieces. My fingers are weak, and yours are swift and strong.”
The old woman smiled, and Katie watched the sun glisten off her silver hair.
“When you are as old as I am, then you, too, can work faster,” Desert Fawn said.
“Yes, but you are the best teacher. Look, we will finish pulling the meat apart today. Tomorrow it can lie in the sun.”
“And the next day we can slice it into thin strips so it can harden. My teepee will have plenty of meat during the winter.”
Journey of the Heart Page 14
