“You should not have stayed behind for me. You should have gone with the others. It is still not too late for you to catch up with them.”
Joanna pushed the white hair from the old medicine woman’s wrinkled brow. “I am where I want to be.”
“You can lie to Windhawk, and you can lie to me, Flaming Hair, but you cannot lie to yourself. You have not stopped loving the chief, nor has he stopped loving you. Where you want to be is at his side.”
“Hush, you need to save your strength,” Joanna scolded, not wanting to talk about Windhawk.
She Who Heals looked deep into Joanna’s eyes. “My strength is all used up, like water on the sand.”
“I will not have you talking like that—you are going to get better!”
“You cannot hold back the wind, and you cannot prevent me from dying, Flaming Hair. My last wish before I walk the spirit world is that you will talk to Windhawk and tell him the truth about the child you carry. Give me your word you will do this for me.”
“I do not want to talk about Windhawk with you or anyone else,” Joanna insisted.
She Who Heals struggled to sit up and grabbed on to the front of Joanna’s gown. “Give me your word that you will talk to Windhawk and tell him it is his child you are carrying!” The old medicine woman fell back on the buffalo robe and seemed to be gasping for breath. “I will see you happy before I die. You cannot deny me my last request!”
She Who Heals was in such an agitated state that Joanna could deny her nothing, for fear the old woman would make herself worse by her anxiety.
“I will tell Windhawk if I get the chance. You have my word.”
The old medicine woman closed her eyes, seeming to relax. Joanna placed her head against She Who Heals’s chest to see if she was still breathing. Her heartbeat was so faint, it could barely be heard. She knew, in that moment, that the dear, sweet woman had not long to live.
Morning Song entered, and Joanna looked up at her with sad eyes. “Watch over her. I want to go for a walk, Morning Song. If she awakens, call me.”
“I will stay beside her,” Morning Song answered.
Joanna walked in the twilight. The western sky was painted with a splash of deep purple. How quiet it now was, when only hours ago, she had heard the sound of children’s laughter, as they looked forward with excitement to moving to the winter camp. There were blackened ashes where campfires had once burned brightly. They were the only visible evidence that this had been home to many families who had laughed, loved, and lived beside the Missouri River.
She walked over to the spot where Windhawk’s lodge had stood. Here, too, all that was left were ashes from the cook-fire. Memories danced fleetingly across Joanna’s mind. Was it such a short time ago that she and Windhawk had laughed and loved together on this very spot? She knew that when the tribe reached their winter camp Windhawk would already be there. This time, he wouldn’t be waiting for her—he would be waiting for Red Bird!
There was such a dull ache deep inside Joanna’s body that she wanted to throw herself on the ground and cry out her anguish. Everything seemed to be changing, and she didn’t know what to do to stop it. Windhawk had replaced her with another woman, and She Who Heals was dying. If she had the power to turn time backward, could she have prevented Windhawk from turning to the Piegan woman? No, she couldn’t have—any more than she could keep She Who Heals from dying.
“ ’Pears to me you been doing some heavy thinking,” Farley said, coming up beside her.
“Where have you been, Farley?” she asked, glad for the diversion from her troubled thoughts.
“I been seeing to the horses. I thought it best to tether them close to camp ’stead of leaving them in the pasture.”
“Farley, She Who Heals isn’t going to last much past tonight. She is gravely ill,” Joanna whispered, looking into the old man’s eyes.
He could hear the pain in Joanna’s voice, knowing she loved She Who Heals. “I knowed she were dying. You had a lot to bear lately, Joanna. Ifen it was within my power, I’d take some of the load off your shoulders.”
She smiled at him in spite of her grief. “You have already done that, Farley. Just stay nearby. Help me get through this night.”
Farley watched Joanna walk away, feeling a sadness deep inside. He had never known anyone who had a kinder heart than hers. She seemed to take on everyone’s problems and make them her own. He was sure people like her would get their rewards; if not in this world, then when they reached the spirit world. She was so young, but already her life had been touched by one tragedy after another.
She Who Heals was stronger than Joanna thought. A week had passed, and still the medicine woman lingered on in torment. At times Joanna wished the end would come quickly for the dear old woman, because she was in such pain.
The night was dark and silent—only a small torch was burning inside the tipi so Joanna could watch over She Who Heals. Morning Song was lying on a buffalo robe sleeping, and Farley was bedded down outside, near enough to hear Joanna should she call out to him.
It was unbearably hot, and Joanna rewet the rag and applied it to She Who Heals’s forehead. As she stared down at the dear old face, hot tears came to her eyes. She picked up her gnarled hand, wishing she could transfer some of her youth and strength into She Who Heals’s body.
The old woman’s eyes snapped open, and she stared at Joanna. “I heard something. Run, Joanna, you are in danger!”
Joanna tried to soothe her, thinking she was hallucinating from the fever. “Go to sleep. There is nothing to fear, I will stay beside you.”
“No, no! You must flee!” She Who Heals said, clutching at Joanna’s hand. “There is danger for you!”
“There is nothing to fear…Farley is just outside. He will watch over us,” Joanna said in a soothing voice.
The four young Cree warriors hid in the bushes. They were nervous and unsure of themselves, since this was their first raid. They had been watching the deserted camp all afternoon, waiting for the old man to fall asleep.
“How many do you think are in the tipi?” Stalking Wolf, the eldest, who seemed to be in charge, asked.
“Who can say? We saw only the white girl and the Indian maiden. There could be more. We will have no trouble slaying the white man.”
“We cannot slay the old man,” one of the young braves said. “I recognize him as the crazy one. The spirits protect him—what will we do with him?”
“If we tie him to a tree, he cannot interfere with us, and no harm will befall us if he is not hurt,” the older brave replied.
Several moments passed before the leader, Stalking Wolf, spoke again. “We will split up—Big Hand and I will take care of the old man and gather up the horses.”
He turned to the other two and spoke to the youngest, who was his brother. This was their first raid, and he wanted to appear brave since the others seemed to look to him for guidance. He remembered that his father, who was the chief of the Cree, had charged him with the safety of his younger brother, and he didn’t want him to come to any harm.
“Long Horse, you and my brother will take the women.”
Farley awoke when someone clamped his hand over his mouth. He tried to struggle free, but was grabbed about the waist by a second Indian. There was bright moonlight, and the old man could see his two assailants clearly. He couldn’t tell which tribe they were from, but he knew they hadn’t come in friendship. His thoughts went to the three women who depended on him for protection, and he struggled all the harder, but still couldn’t break free.
“Stop struggling, crazy one,” the young brave ordered harshly. Farley had no time to answer because the Indian brought the hilt of his knife down against the back of his skull, and Farley slumped forward into unconsciousness. He never knew when one of the Indians dragged him over to a cottonwood tree, tied him up, and then stuffed a gag in his mouth.
Joanna scrambled quickly to her feet when the tipi flap was thrown aside. She stared in bewilderment at the two
strange warriors who entered.
“Who are you? What do you want?” she asked through trembling lips, noticing that they were just young boys. She could tell by their dress that they were not of the Blackfoot tribe.
One of the warriors grabbed her by the wrist, while the other made a dive for Morning Song. Joanna struggled with all her might and almost got away.
“Take your hands off me!” she ordered, kicking out at her assailant.
At that moment, She Who Heals raised up and saw what was happening. Neither of the young warriors noticed when the old woman reached out a trembling hand and picked up the torch. With what little strength she had left, she threw it at the Indian who held Joanna.
As the flaming torch hit its target, the Indian’s hair caught fire, and he released his hold on Joanna, screaming in pain and terror.
Seeing what the old woman had done to his friend, the second warrior released Morning Song, picked up a spear, and threw it at She Who Heals. Joanna screamed as the spear entered the old medicine woman’s heart. Crying tears of anger and grief, Joanna saw the old woman’s body twitch, and her head fell sideways in death.
Everything seemed to happen at once. Joanna quickly removed the spear from She Who Heals’s body and advanced on the warrior who had just killed her dear friend. The other warrior had fallen to the floor with his whole body engulfed in flames.
With no hesitation or regret, Joanna drove the spear into the warrior who now had his hands about Morning Song’s throat, trying to choke the life out of her.
Joanna knew there might be more of them, so she grabbed Morning Song by the arm and dragged her out of the tipi. There was no time to grieve for She Who Heals, since she was beyond help…the grief would come later. Right now, she must think about her own and Morning Song’s safety.
When they were outside, Joanna saw that Farley’s bedroll was empty. “Come, Morning Song, we must hurry!” she cried, pushing the young girl ahead of her.
When they reached the horses, Joanna breathed a sigh of relief. She had half-feared that their horses might have been stolen, but she was relieved to find they were still tethered where Farley had left them. The two girls quickly removed the leather ropes from their horses’ ankles, fearing, at any moment they would be set upon by other braves.
Morning Song jumped on the back of her horse, and Joanna was about to mount Fosset when she saw an Indian drag Morning Song to the ground. She raced forward to help Windhawk’s sister; then she herself was caught from behind.
Fosset reared up on his hind legs and then broke into a run. Joanna was struggling, but the Indian who held her was stronger than the other two had been. With very little trouble, he tied Joanna’s hands and feet with rawhide ropes and threw her across Farley’s horse, while the other Indian did the same to Morning Song.
As they rode off into the night, Joanna saw that She Who Heals’s tipi was engulfed in flames. She didn’t know what the Indians had done to Farley, and she dared not allow herself to think what they had in mind for her and Morning Song.
Stalking Wolf felt sadness in his heart that his young brother had died in the burning tipi. He knew his father would hold him responsible for his brother’s death, and he dreaded facing him with the news.
He stared at the white woman with the flaming hair. He had never seen beauty such as she possessed. He would give her to his father, hoping he would take the girl in place of his dead son. He would leave the girl untouched and present her to his father!
Chapter Fifteen
Joanna felt stark, raving terror as her captors raced on through the night. The leather rope was cutting into her skin, and the Indian kept such a tight grip about her waist that she felt she was going to be sick.
Dear Lord! she thought, was her whole life going to be one upheaval after another? The Indian who carried Morning Song was riding just ahead of her, and all she could see was his back. Her heart went out to Windhawk’s young sister, knowing how terrified she must be.
She Who Heals was dead, and she feared Farley might be, too. Joanna had no notion what tribe her captors belonged to, or where they were taking her and Morning Song.
Farley opened his eyes slowly, feeling disoriented. He was groggy, and the inside of his mouth felt as though he had swallowed a roll of cotton.
“What the hell!” His words came out in a muffled sound through the gag that had been stuffed in his mouth. He soon discovered he was tied to a tree and couldn’t get loose. Farley didn’t have the vaguest idea from what tribe the Indians had come who had attacked him, but he would never forget their faces!
Suddenly he thought of Joanna and began to struggle with all his strength. He was rewarded by the gag slipping out of his mouth. “Joanna!” he hollered out. “Joanna!” There was no reply.
He couldn’t see the tipi from his vantage point, but he saw flames shooting up into the air. The tipi was on fire! Once more, he strained against the ropes, cussing and yanking as hard as he could, but the bonds would not yield. Seeing it was hopeless to struggle, he slumped back against the tree, wondering what had happened.
It was some time later that Farley heard a rider approaching, and he braced himself, not knowing if it was friend or foe. Watching the tree line, he waited for whomever it was to emerge, knowing he was in no position to defend himself.
“Hell’s bells,” he muttered when he saw the riderless Fosset. The horse came up to Farley, prancing about and shaking his silky mane. The old man knew there was something very wrong. The Indians who had attacked him must have gone to the tipi where Joanna and Morning Song were. He swore loudly, knowing there wasn’t anything he could do to help them. The ropes that bound him to the tree were strong, and no matter how hard he struggled, he couldn’t work his hands free.
Windhawk’s face was a mask of fury as he rode toward the abandoned village beside the Missouri River. As time had passed, he had begun to reflect on what had happened to him and Joanna. Before, he had been unwilling to talk to her, but now he had a burning need to know what had happened between her and the long knife. He had ridden to join his people on their way to the winter camp, hoping to see Joanna. His anger that she had decided to stay behind with She Who Heals, had still not cooled. Even if the medicine woman was ill, he couldn’t see why she hadn’t been moved on a travois. In his heart, Windhawk felt Joanna had stayed behind only because she wanted to delay the time when she would have to face him.
His body had a burning need to be near her. He had been too long without a woman, and Joanna was the only one who could quench the flaming desire that gnawed painfully at his insides day and night. He knew now he would take her back as his wife even if she had betrayed him with the long knife. His love and desire for her were so deep, they were stronger than his need for revenge.
Crossing the river, he pulled up his horse—he could see smoke rising into the sky. It was barely dawn, and at first he thought the smoke was from She Who Heals’s cook-fire but as he drew nearer, he saw the tipi was a mass of smoldering ashes.
Puzzled, he stared at the remains of what had once been She Who Heals’s tipi. He wondered why the old woman had burned her home. Perhaps the old woman had died, and Joanna and Morning Song had burned the tipi. He made a sweeping glance of the camp, looking for a scaffold where the old woman’s body would have been placed to be received by the spirits.
Hearing a horse whinny, Windhawk turned toward the nearby woods where the sound came from. He unsheathed his knife and walked cautiously in that direction, realizing something wasn’t right.
Farley heard the sound of a horse and knew it wasn’t Fosset, since he could see Joanna’s horse grazing nearby. Again, not knowing if the intruder was a friend or an enemy, he didn’t call out. His keen hearing picked up the sound of a snapping twig, and Farley knew it was a human. Whoever it was would soon be upon him. Straining his eyes, he watched the bushes being pushed aside, and Windhawk appeared!
Windhawk stood motionless for a moment with a bewildered look on his face.
“Hurry up and cut me loose, Windhawk! I know no more about what is going on than you do. I was attacked by two Indians and woke up to find myself tied to this tree. Did you see Joanna? Is she all right?”
Windhawk tried to push down the feeling of panic that rose in his throat like bile. Dropping to his knees, he sliced through the leather ropes.
“Joanna and my sister better be unharmed, old man, or I will run this knife through you,” Windhawk said, getting quickly to his feet. He ran back in the direction of the smoldering tipi.
When Farley reached the burned-out ruins, Windhawk was staring at the ashes. “I see the bones of a human, old man!” Windhawk cried out in agony.
Windhawk seemed dazed as he stared into the ashes. It was as if he were paralyzed.
Farley picked up a long stick and plunged it into the ashes, uncovering other burned bodies.
“There’s three of them,” he said softly. Dropping to his knees, Farley raised his head to look up at Windhawk. Tears blinded him and ran unchecked down his wrinkled face. “Joanna’s dead, Windhawk! She’s gone!”
Windhawk dropped to his knees, feeling as if he had just died inside. Staring at the blackened bones, he felt tears in his own eyes, knowing one of the bodies was his beloved, and the other two would be his lovely little sister and the old medicine woman.
Raising his head to the heavens, an agonizing cry issued from his lips. “Napi, why have you punished me thus? Why did you take Joanna, and leave me to walk alone?”
Farley stood up as his anger replaced his grief. He would find who had done this thing, and they would pay with their life! He was guilt-ridden, knowing he should have prevented this from happening.
Windhawk saw a bright object in the ashes and realized it was an armband. He lifted it up and held it to the sun, reading the engraved markings.
Savage Winter Page 16
