“Guns down, gents,” a gravelly voice said, drawing Reginald’s eyes quickly to the tall, lanky outlaw, whose coppery red hair hung down to his shoulders. “Don’t you recognize Preach, our friend?”
Bulldog Jones came down the steps and took the horse’s reins, wrapping them around a hitching rail. “Come on inside, Preach,” he said, nodding toward the door. “Have a cup of java with your old buddy.”
Relieved, and wheezing, Reginald stepped from the buggy.
His shoulders slightly hunched, he shuffled along, watching the men over his shoulder sheepishly, until he came to the steps and hurried up them.
“You look like you’ve been cornered by a polecat, Preach,” Bulldog Jones said, opening the door for Reginald.
“I feel like I have,” Reginald said, reaching a hand to his brow and swiping beads of sweat from it as he stepped past Bulldog Jones into the cabin.
“They meant you no harm,” Bulldog Jones said, motioning with a hand toward two rockers that sat before a roaring fire in the huge stone fireplace at the far end of the room. “Come and sit with me. Tell me what’s on your mind.”
Reginald nodded and sat down while Bulldog Jones poured two cups of coffee and brought one to Reginald.
“Want some spirits in yours?” Bulldog Jones said, nodding toward a bottle of whiskey on the table between the rocking chairs. “Do you think that’d calm you down a mite?”
“I’m fine,” Reginald said. Yet his hand was trembling so much, it splashed coffee over the side of the cup and onto his brand new breeches. He knew it would leave a stain, but Jade would be able to get it out. She was good at such things.
Bulldog Jones settled himself into the cushion of the chair next to Reginald and began slowly rocking. “Tell me what brings you here today, Preach,” he said, eyeing Reginald with dark brown eyes. “It’s an uncommon thing . . . you coming here like this.”
“Yes, I know,” Reginald said, nodding. “And I know you’d rather I didn’t unless you’ve requested my company. But I had to come. I’m in trouble; bad trouble.”
“What sort?” Bulldog Jones said, lifting an eyebrow. He took a slow sip of coffee, then placed the cup on the table next to him. “What can I do for you? You did come here to ask for my help, didn’t you?”
“I hate for you to think that’s the only reason I’d come,” Reginald said, again wiping sweat from his brow. “We’re friends. I appreciate your friendship. And I know friends shouldn’t take advantage of each other. But, damn it, Bulldog, I’m in a lot of trouble. And because of it, I’m not able to sleep. I’m tired. So damn tired.”
“What on earth could get in the way of your sleep?” Bulldog Jones wondered. “Spit it out, Preach. Tell me everything. If there’s something I can do to help you, you know I’ll do it.”
“Well, it’s this way,” Reginald said, then told him all about how he had come to be cursed by the Sioux. Up until now he had not told anyone where he had found the silver.
But now it was different.
And if Bulldog Jones wanted to go and take silver from that damnable cave, let him. He was welcome to it, if he wanted to start having the same nightmares that Reginald was now having.
That made him smile.
“And are you saying that your cousin Jessie is at the Indian village?” Bulldog Jones said, leaning forward, his eyes squinting. “And you want me to do away with the Injuns and make sure the offspring of my old rival is dead?”
“Exactly,” Reginald said, suddenly overwhelmed by an attack of wheezing. He tried to suck in a deep breath, only to wheeze even more violently.
“I think you need that whiskey,” Bulldog Jones said, rising quickly and pouring a shot into a small glass, then handing it to Reginald.
Reginald swallowed it in fast gulps, and sighed with relief when the whiskey momentarily checked his wheezing and coughing.
“Thanks,” he said, handing the empty glass back to Bulldog Jones. “Well, what’s your answer? Will you help me? I’ll part with many of my coins if you’ll do this job for me.”
“Yep, it’d be my pleasure,” Bulldog Jones said, his eyes gleaming. “I’ve gotten blisters on my butt from sitting too long in this rocking chair. It’ll be good to be back on my horse wreaking havoc.”
“Thank you, oh, thank you,” Reginald said, his heart pounding at the thought that this outlaw was actually going to help him in his time of crisis. “When can you do it?”
“Soon,” Bulldog Jones said, going to stare from a window. “I’m eager to get my hands on my ol’ buddy’s daughter. And I hate Injuns; all sorts. They don’t have a place among us civil folk.”
“That’s true,” Reginald said, rising from his chair. “In a few days I’ll bring you a bag of money for what you’re going to do to help me. Name your price. It’ll be in the bag.”
“You know me well enough to know the price I need for this job,” Bulldog Jones said, turning on a heel and smiling greedily at Reginald. “Preach, I’ll send word when I want you to come with the money.”
Then he stared from the window again. “And a cave is where you got it, huh?” he said, drumming his fingers on the windowsill. “I’ll wait awhile and then give that cave a visit.”
“You’d best leave no Sioux behind if you plan on going to that damnable cave,” Reginald said, walking toward the door. “If you had the sort of nightmares they’ve cursed me with, you’d think twice before going to that cave. I’ll give you enough coins so that you may change your mind about going there.”
“There’s never enough coins for my pockets,” Bulldog Jones said, walking out of the cabin with Reginald. “Seems my pockets have holes in them.”
Reginald laughed, then boarded his wagon and nodded a farewell to the outlaw. He was escorted from the property by several men, glad when they finally stopped and rode back toward the hideout.
Feeling smug now, and anxious for Bulldog Jones to do his work, Reginald hurried home.
He gazed down at the damnable coffee stain. “Jade,” he whispered. “I’ve got to find Jade.”
He hurried into the house, only to find silence there.
He went to the kitchen, expecting Jade to be standing over the stove preparing food for the evening meal. He frowned when he found no signs of her there, or of food being prepared.
He turned on a heel and stomped from the kitchen, shrieking Jade’s name. But no matter where he looked, he couldn’t find her.
He stormed into her bedroom. His face blanched when he saw that all of her belongings were missing, as were the blankets from her bed.
“She’s gone,” he said, a sick feeling gripping him in the pit of his stomach. “That damnable wench has left me!”
He ran out to the stable and saw that the wagon she used to travel into town was also gone.
“Lee-Lee,” he said, his eyes widening. “Lord, Lee-Lee!”
Realizing that Jade had done far more than go into town to visit her daughter and take her the usual basket of provisions, Reginald was afraid to go and check on Lee-Lee. He suspected that Jade had finally worked up the courage to help her daughter escape. Surely both were long gone from the area by now.
“She’d better not have dared,” he growled, boarding his buggy again and slapping the reins on the back of his horse. “I’ll hunt her down. I’ll scalp her and leave her for the vultures. The Indians will be blamed. No one’ll ever think I’d do such a thing.”
He rode hard until he pulled up in the alley between the cribs.
He hurried to the door that led into Lee-Lee’s assigned crib and yanked it open.
He stopped dead when he found another woman in bed with a man.
“Where is she?” he shouted, going to the bed to stand over the two naked people. “Where is Lee-Lee?”
The man grabbed his pants and jerked them on, then fled through the door, while the woman named Marla recoiled on the bed, her eyes filled with fear.
“She’s gone,” Marla muttered. “So I took her crib. It’s better’n
mine, so clean and all. I didn’t think you’d mind.” She gave a sly smile. “Didn’t you give her permission to leave?”
“You know the answer to that,” Reginald shouted, flailing his hands in the air. “She was mine. Mine!”
“I’m sorry,” Marla gulped out, visibly shivering. She yanked a blanket around her shoulders. “You’re not going to hurt me over somethin’ she did, are you? Or over . . . me . . . taking her crib?”
“No, you aren’t at fault,” Reginald said, kneading his chin as he tried to figure out what to do next. He nodded toward Marla. “Sorry for intruding. I’ll give you what the gentleman would’ve paid you.”
He reached inside his front right pocket and jerked out several coins, then dropped them on the bed. “Again, sorry,” he said. “You’re one of my best. You deserve the best crib.”
“Thank you,” Marla said, quickly gathering the coins into a pile on the bed. “I’ll never disappoint you.”
Reginald nodded and left the crib.
He stood outside and looked up one side of the alley and down the other, then hung his head. He couldn’t go and ask for help from the sheriff. None of the decent townsfolk knew of his connection to the cribs. He couldn’t let them know now.
He had to accept his losses.
Then he went pale at the thought of the man who had just run from the crib. Should he start spreading the word about who had interrupted his time with Marla, and why, all hell would break loose. Reginald would be washed up in this town.
He boarded his buggy and headed back toward his home. He knew he would have to wait and see if there were any consequences of his actions today at the crib. If there were, he’d handle them at that time.
For now he wanted the comforts of his home. Its peace and serenity.
“Where could Jade and Lee-Lee have gone?” he wondered as he approached his ranch.
He frowned as he thought more about what he had done today at Bulldog Jones’s hideout. He had made a bargain with the devil, but he would do anything to get back at the Sioux. He knew he could count on the outlaw to do what he had promised.
Reginald just hoped that Bulldog Jones didn’t wait too long to act, for Reginald didn’t think he could take many more sleepless nights.
He turned down the lane that led to his ranch, his thoughts on Jade and Lee-Lee again. How would they stay alive without him and his help?
The thought of them not making it made him laugh wickedly, for they deserved such a fate for having duped him.
Chapter Twenty-six
Filled with deep sadness, and already missing his beloved ahte, who had sunk into a deep sleep, Thunder Horse sat at his father’s side.
The shaman had already left, having performed all the rituals that he could for his dying chief. Thunder Horse sat alone, filled with memories that would now have to sustain him the rest of his life.
His father had been so good to him. He had taught Thunder Horse to be brave and courageous in the eye of danger.
He had given him the strength and insight to be a great chief. His ahte had been one of the greatest and most beloved of the Sioux tribe.
And now his father, that once powerful chief of the Fox band, was living his last moments of life.
It just did not seem real that this was happening, although Thunder Horse knew it was inevitable that he would soon say a final good-bye to his ahte. He had already lost his beloved ina to death. The loss of his mother had been hard to accept at the time. Just as hard as it was now to await his ahte’s dying breath.
But Thunder Horse had to remind himself that he still had the love and support of his people, as well as his sister Sweet Willow and nephew Lone Wing, and now, ah, his beloved, sweet Jessie.
Soon he would take Jessie as his wife and fill that gap in his heart that had waited for such a woman as Jessie to fill it with her love and devotion.
Ho, soon he would marry this woman and would have children born of their love. He had much to look forward to, those moments he would share with his family, always with the presence of his ina and ahte inside his mind and heart.
Suddenly he heard a low gasp.
He saw his father’s eyes take on a strange sort of peaceful look as he took his last breath of life. It was not the usual stare of death, but instead a look of peace.
“Ahte, oh, Ahte, how I will miss you,” Thunder Horse cried, fighting back tears, for he knew that he must face his people soon with the horrible news that they had lost the man who had been their leader for so many years.
He anticipated the heartache of his people even before telling them, for he knew how much they all had loved Chief White Horse.
Gently he reached out and closed his father’s eyes, then embraced him one last time.
After he made the announcement that all were expecting, yet dreading, he would prepare his father’s body for burial.
He had a promise to fulfill, one that his father had made to the White Chief in Washington. As soon as Chief White Horse was dead and interred in the sacred cave of the Fox band of Sioux, the band would move on, to where the rest of their band awaited them.
A reservation.
Oh, how Thunder Horse hated that word and what it stood for and meant to his people. It meant the loss of their freedom to live as their band had lived from the beginning of time.
They would no longer be free to do as they wished when they wished, for they would be on land assigned them by white eyes, not their own land.
But the White Chief in Washington had promised Thunder Horse’s father that their life on the reservation would not be so very different from how they lived today.
They would be free to hunt when they desired. They would have a vast stretch of land on which to hunt, and where they could plant seeds that would grow food for their people.
He had already arranged that seeds were set aside for the long journey. After a while, once they had settled in the Dakotas, their gardens would be filled with food, just as they were here in this village.
Ho, if the White Chief in Washington had not spoken with a forked tongue, the reservation would not be like moving to the pits of hell.
Thunder Horse took one final moment with his father, inhaling his familiar smell and feeling the familiar skin of his cheek as he laid his face against his father’s. He then stood proudly tall over the fallen hero, taking strength from his father one last time before doing a deed that broke his heart.
“Ahte, I will follow your teachings until I am an old man who will leave the leadership and my own teachings to a son of mine,” Thunder Horse said thickly. “I promise you that I will never be lax in my duty as chief to our people, nor in my duties to my children or wife.”
It was as though he heard his father say, “I know that you do right in all things. Go in peace and with much love in your heart, my son, as you spread the news of my passing. Tell them that I am happy as my soul has departed to the land of ghosts, and that I already see your mother, my beloved wife, with hands stretched out for me. Go, my micinksi. Go.”
Having truly felt as though he had heard the words of his father inside his head, Thunder Horse shook his head quickly, then turned and followed his father’s last bidding.
After stepping outside, he found that all who lived in his village were there, awaiting the news. Word had spread quickly that their elderly chief was taking his last breaths of life.
Eyes looked anxiously back at Thunder Horse, among them his woman’s. Jessie stood with his people as one of them already.
“My ahte’s soul has departed to the land of ghosts,” Thunder Horse announced. “He walks with those now who departed before him.”
There was much wailing and crying as his people clung to each other.
Jessie went into Thunder Horse’s arms. “I am so sorry,” she murmured as Sweet Willow came, too, and stood at her brother’s side, Lone Wing beside her.
“I have duties now that must be done quickly,” Thunder Horse said, setting Jessie away from him by placing gent
le hands on her shoulders. “His burial must be carried out swiftly, for the White Chief in Washington was promised that as soon as Father passed to the other side, what was left of our Fox band would go to join our fellows on the reservation.”
“I know,” Jessie said, tears burning at the corners of her eyes.
“Go to my lodge and wait for me,” Thunder Horse said, searching her eyes. “What I must do must be done alone. Even my sister and nephew cannot join me as I prepare my father for burial. It is the duty of a son. I . . . am . . . that micinski, that son.”
He quickly drew her into his arms and gave her one last embrace, then turned and went back inside the tepee where his father awaited him.
Jessie hugged Sweet Willow and Lone Wing, then went alone to Thunder Horse’s tepee, where she began gathering things and packing blankets and clothes in parfleche bags for the long journey ahead. She did not want Thunder Horse to have to do this after burying his father. She was his woman and she would perform a wife’s duties for the man she would soon marry.
The thought of marrying Thunder Horse made these moments less sad, for soon she would be the wife of a wonderful, caring, powerful Sioux chief.
“Sioux chief,” she whispered, knowing that just a few weeks ago she would have been astonished to learn that one day she would be the wife of a powerful Sioux chief. That was not an ordinary thing—a white woman with an Indian, much less a chief.
But things had happened that made this so, and now she could not see how her life could ever be any other way than intertwined with Thunder Horse’s forever.
“I will always be here for you,” she whispered as she picked up one of his fringed shirts and held it tenderly to her bosom. “My love, oh, my love, I wish I could do something to help erase the pain of your loss, for I know how deep it goes. I have lost many I love, too.”
As she remembered the loved ones who had died such untimely deaths, and in such horrible ways, Jessie’s thoughts went to her one remaining relative.
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