Beyond The Horizon

by Connie Mason

  Goodman rudely pushed past her in order to get a better look. “I’ll find out.”

  “Wait for me!” Shannon was right behind him, her curiosity piqued.

  “Make way!” Goodman ordered, shoving his way through the knot of people gathered in the middle of the dusty parade ground. They seemed to be staring at something lying at their feet. Shannon followed close behind Goodman as a path opened for him.

  When she saw what had caused the disturbance, she froze, a strangled gasp rushing past her lips. “My God! No!”

  A man lay on his stomach on the ground, an arrow protruding from his back. His spent horse stood nearby, its head lowered, blowing and heaving from exhaustion. It appeared the poor animal had been ridden hard and long with little rest or food.

  But that wasn’t the worst shock about seeing the man lying near death in the square. What struck Shannon forcefully was the fact that she knew the man. It was young Todd Wilson from the wagon train.

  “Todd! Todd Wilson!”

  Then suddenly Blade appeared from nowhere, kneeling beside Todd, supporting his body as he turned him over with gentle hands. Todd groaned and opened his eyes. They were nearly swollen shut by a vile mixture of dust and blood from a gash over his eyebrow. The expression on Todd’s face was so bleak, so utterly despairing that Shannon couldn’t stop the cry of dismay that slipped past her bloodless lips.

  “Indians,” Todd gasped from between lips parched and bleeding from lack of water. “It happened on the Bozeman Trail. They attacked at dawn several days after we left Fort Laramie.”

  “Todd, what about the Johnsons? And your family? And all the others?” Shannon asked. Anguish and fear twisted her beautiful features into a grimace of pain and disbelief.

  “Shannon,” Todd said, recognizing her for the first time. “Thank God you weren’t with the wagon train. Dead, they’re all dead.”

  “No! Oh God, no,” Shannon sobbed, turning away to hide her grief.

  “What do you make of it, Blade?” Goodman asked as he-orouched beside Blade.

  “Sioux,” Blade replied tersely. He abhorred the thought that all the people he’d become fond of were dead. Could Mad Wolf be behind this massacre? he wondered bleakly. If so, he’d go out of his way to make damn certain it never happened again.

  “Do you know the boy?” Goodman asked.

  “Todd Wilson was traveling to Oregon with his family.”

  “Todd, is everyone dead?” Goodman asked.

  “The bastards carried off my sister and Callie Johnson, but the rest are dead—my family, Howie, everyone. They left me for dead, but I fooled them. They stole all the stock, but missed old Cletus here, who was off foraging. Thought I was a goner for sure until he came wandering back a day or two later.”

  “Hang on, son, the doctor from the fort is on the way,” Blade said gently. “Think hard, Todd—to your knowledge is everyone dead, even the Johnson baby?”

  The question was never answered, for Todd had passed out. Serious loss of blood complicated by dehydration had sent him spinning into oblivion. It was a small miracle he’d survived this long.

  Mercifully the doctor arrived with a pair of stretcher bearers close on his heels. With military authority the doctor quickly dispersed the crowd and knelt to examine his patient. Shannon watched in shocked horror as Todd was lifted onto the stretcher and carried away. Blade was quick to note her distress and offered comfort without a thought to how it might look.

  “Don’t worry, Shannon, he’s in good hands.”

  Shannon’s face was so white, so drawn, that Blade feared she was in shock, but the sound of his voice seemed to bring her out of her state.

  “Oh Blade, I can’t bear it! All my friends—gone. And poor Nancy and Callie.” Suddenly a terrifying thought occured to her. “What about little Johnny Blade?”

  It seemed only natural and right for Blade to offer the solace of his arms as he opened them wide. Without considering the right or wrong of her decision, Shannon stepped into his embrace, sobbing into his chest.

  Goodman stood with his mouth open, shock and disbelief transforming his handsome features into a mask of hate and disgust. He never would have suspected that a well-bred young lady like Shannon Branigan would seek solace from a savage. But that was exactly what she was doing. Had some kind of bond developed between them during those days they were alone on the prairie? he wondered. No, it must be merely because the half-breed had once saved her life, and it was only natural now that she turn to him in a moment of grief. The girl needed to be set straight on what was proper and what was not.

  “Get your gear together, Blade,” Goodman rapped out with authority. “I want you along with the burying detail. We’ll leave within the hour. Let’s hope it’s not too late to save the women.”

  With great reluctance Blade set Shannon aside. When she made sounds of protest low in her throat, he gave her a little shake and said in a voice only she could hear, “Think of how this looks, Little Firebird. Don’t give the fort food for gossip.”

  Shannon was too distraught to care what people thought, but common sense prevailed as she silently watched Blade walk away. Only then did she realize that Lieutenant Goodman was still there, staring at her with stern disapproval.

  “I’ve warned you before about the half-breed, Shannon, and your improper behavior where he is concerned,” he lectured. “It’s a good thing the townspeople dispersed before witnessing so disgraceful a demonstration. Keep in mind that you are a schoolteacher and your morals should never be in question.”

  Shannon bristled with indignation. “You don’t have to preach morals to me, Lieutenant, I’m fully aware of my responsibility regarding the children.”

  “Don’t be angry, Shannon, I’m only telling you this to prevent you from making a terrible mistake. The breed isn’t the kind of man ladies become involved with. You’re new to the West and don’t know the rules and the harsh realities of frontier life. Think about what I’ve said while I’m gone.” He turned abruptly and left her standing in the middle of the square.

  “Are you going after the women?” Shannon called after him.

  He halted, turning back to answer her. “It depends on Colonel Greer. We’re a mere handful of men gathered here at Fort Laramie, and we have all we can do to make safe the hundreds of miles of Oregon Trail under our jurisdiction, most of it in the heart of the Sioux Nation. If it’s within our power, we’ll bring the women back, but I can’t promise we’ll succeed.”

  Blade scouted ahead of the patrol, his ears attuned to the slightest sound, his eyes alert for signs of danger. Blade strongly suspected that Mad Wolf and his renegades were behind the vile attack on the wagon train, and it occurred to him that if Mad Wolf hadn’t gotten the weapons he’d never have attempted so daring a raid. Killing innocent women and children was a cowardly act. It was an attack like this that led to the Sand Creek Massacre in ‘64, when the army killed one hundred and fifty peaceful Indians in retaliation for Indian atrocities.

  That night the patrol bedded down on the prairie and Blade deliberately chose a spot a short distance apart from the main party to spread his bedroll. Lieutenant Goodman approached Blade as he prepared to settle down for the night.

  “How soon before we reach the wagon train?”

  “A couple more days at least,” Blade calculated. “We can travel twice as fast as the wagon train. I’ll leave at dawn and scout ahead.” Blade turned away, expecting Goodman to leave. When Goodman stood his ground, Blade faced him squarely, one black eyebrow arched. “Is there something else?”

  Blade waited for Goodman to speak, his eyes coldly assessing.

  “Damn right! You’re damaging Miss Branigan’s reputation every time you’re seen with her. That display today was uncalled for. Don’t let it happen again.”

  “Is that an order, Goodman?”

  “If you want to keep your job, stay away from Shannon Branigan. I have the colonel’s ear and a word from me is all it will take to send you packing.�
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  “Don’t threaten me, Goodman,” Blade said evenly, stifling the urge to put the cocky lieutenant in his place. It was imperative that he contain his anger until his investigation was done here.

  Deliberately, Blade stretched out in his bedroll and turned his back, putting an abrupt end to the conversation.

  Two days later they found the wagon train. Vultures swooping low over the charred wreckage showed them the way. It was just as Todd Wilson described, only worse. Everyone was dead. Men, women, and children, all slaughtered, most scalped. It was a grisly sight, causing even the most seasoned troopers to turn away, sickened.

  Under Goodman’s direction, the burying detail set to work immediately. The terrible stench of decaying flesh rose above the site like an evil cloud, forcing the men to cover their noses and mouths. Not only were the emigrants murdered, but their goods had been ransacked and their valuables stolen. During the search for victims, Blade was quick to note that the Johnson baby was not among the dead. A survey of the patrol confirmed his theory that Callie had somehow managed to take her child with her. Realistically, Blade knew that there was only a slim chance that they were still alive. It would break Shannon’s heart if little Johnny Blade Johnson was dead.

  “Do you have any idea who is responsible for this?” Goodman asked Blade once all the dead had been buried.

  Blade held up an arrow similar to the one found in Todd Wilson’s back. “Renegade Sioux who are unhappy on the reservation and angered by the influx of people moving West. See this notch?” He held the arrow under Goodman’s nose, pointing to the feathers at the end of the shaft. “There is only one man I know of who notches his arrows in this, manner.”

  “Who is that?”

  “Mad Wolf.”

  Blade thought he saw something stir in Goodman’s eyes, something he was unable to decipher. “That red devil!” Goodman spat. “He will pay for this atrocity. He belongs to Yellow Dog’s village, doesn’t he?”

  “He acts independently,” Blade explained. “It isn’t fair to blame Yellow Dog, or all Sioux in general, for this attack. If you start killing indiscriminately, you’ll be no better than Mad Wolf.”

  “Stick to what you know, Blade, and leave the soldiering to me. Move out, men!” Immediately the patrol prepared to mount up and ride out.

  “Where are we going, Lieutenant?”

  “Away from here,” Goodman said, wrinkling his nose in obvious distaste. “Surely we can find a better camping place than this. I hope you’re as good a tracker as you claim.”

  “We’re going after the renegades?”

  “Damn right!”

  Blade had been tracking Mad Wolf a full day. It was noon now and Goodman had just sighted a stand of cottonwood trees on the south bank of the Platte River and signaled for a break. Mad Wolf had crossed the river several times but Blade had been able to pick up his trail with little difficulty. His keen perception told him there were about twenty renegades in the raiding party. Hoof prints indicated that the women rode double with two of the Indians, lending Blade hope that they were still alive. But knowing Mad Wolf as he did it was difficult to guess what condition they were in.

  Blade downed a hasty meal, then scouted out the area while the others rested. Within minutes he found signs indicating that the renegades had camped nearby, and other signs that led him to believe a struggle had taken place. In short order he discovered scraps of material that looked like pieces of women’s clothing. He pointed them out to Goodman, who swore to avenge the atrocities. After they had eaten, Goodman ordered the patrol back on their horses, but Blade lingered behind, still reading signs. Suddenly he froze, all his senses coming alive. A strange sound coming from a clump of bushes close to the river bank set his hair on end.

  His dark eyes swept the surrounding area, but he saw nothing. Yet obviously something had distracted him. On cat’s feet he crept toward the bushes, his hand hovering above his gun. Nothing stirred. Could he have been mistaken? No, he told himself, his senses hadn’t failed him yet. Then he heard the soft mewling sound again, renewing his faith in his instincts. Someone or something was hidden in the bushes. Perhaps only a wounded animal, he told himself, not daring to hope.

  He reached the river bank and knelt, spreading apart the thick branches of undergrowth. What he discovered was no wounded animal—no animal at all. His shout of jubilation caused the patrol to about-face and rush to his side.

  “What is it?” Goodman asked, sliding from his horse and hunkering down beside Blade.

  “I found the Johnson baby.” Blade picked up the small bundle with surprisingly gentle hands.

  “Is he alive?”

  “He looks all right, probably just hungry. But I’m no doctor.”

  “What do you think happened?”

  “He probably got in the way and Mad Wolf dumped him, expecting him to die.”

  “And the women?”

  “We can only assume they are still alive.”

  “Then we push on.”

  “What about the baby?”

  Goodman stared at Blade in silent contemplation. “Obviously someone has to take him back to the fort.”

  A short time later, after Blade had painstakingly spooned water down little Johnny’s parched throat, one of the privates rode back to the fort with the baby strapped securely to his chest, a precaution suggested by Blade. Then the patrol resumed their march, more determined than ever to kill the savages responsible for so many deaths.

  Blade found Mad Wolf’s camp the next day while he was out scouting alone. The renegade had set up camp in the shadow of a ledge jutting out from a hillside. It was obvious from his lack of vigilance that he thought no one from the wagon train had survived to alert the soldiers from the fort.

  Blade crouched in rocks above the campsite, making a visual search of the area. He spotted the two women lying motionless on the ground. From a distance Blade couldn’t judge whether they were dead or alive, only that they appeared to have been abused both sexually and physically. Edging closer, Blade heard the men arguing about who would have them first tonight. Having heard more than enough, he melted into the shadows to alert the patrol.

  The patrol waited to attack until the Indians were seated around the campfire, smoking and drinking whiskey taken from the wagon train. The attack caught the renegades completely by surprise as they dove for their weapons. Some were killed outright in the ensuing battle, and when the melee ended, Blade was dismayed to discover that Mad Wolf and several of his cohorts had slipped away during the height of battle. Only the dead and dying remained.

  “See to the women, Blade,” Goodman barked as he turned to check on his own wounded.

  With trepidation Blade approached the women, recalling that neither Callie or Nancy had moved during the battle. That alone gave him fair warning of what he would find. Hunkering down, he turned over the woman closest to him. It was Nancy Wilson. She was dead, having suffered more abuse at the hands of Mad Wolf and his renegades than she could tolerate. Realizing that she was beyond human help, Blade moved on to Callie. He was heartened to discover she still lived, though covered with filth and battered nearly beyond recognition.

  “Callie, can you hear me?”

  At first Blade received no answer, but when he held his canteen to Callie’s bloodless lips she drank greedily. “Easy, you’re safe now.”

  Just the sound of a male voice and Blade’s hands on her wrenched a scream from Callie’s throat. “No! No! Please don’t hurt me again!” Then she started shuddering and shaking uncontrollably. Seeing Blade’s swarthy face poised above her sent her teetering on the edge of sanity.

  Blade held her tightly, crooning words of comfort into her ear. “It’s Blade, Callie, Swift Blade. You are safe now, no one will hurt you again.”

  A long time elapsed before he was able to get through to her. She ceased struggling and crying out but continued to shudder.

  “Blade?”

  “Yes, Callie, you’re safe now.”

 
“My baby, my baby is dead. Howie is dead,” she moaned over and over.

  “Your baby is alive, Callie. I found him and sent him back to the fort. You will join him soon.”

  “How are the women?” Lieutenant Goodman stood beside Blade, having seen to his wounded and issued orders for their care.

  “Nancy Wilson is dead, but I think Callie will make it with proper care. She should be taken back to the fort as soon as possible.”

  “You’ll be taken care of, Mrs. Johnson,” Goodman assured her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

  Immediately Callie jerked away, fear and terror twisting her features. “Don’t! Don’t touch me!”

  “It’s all right, Callie, Lieutenant Goodman won’t hurt you. He’ll send you back to the fort with one of his men.”

  “No, please, can’t you take me? I don’t want to go with anyone else.”

  “Perhaps that would be best,” Goodman mused thoughtfully. His eyes narrowed and an arrested look came over his features. “Obviously the woman trusts you.”

  “What about Mad Wolf?”

  “We’ll find him. And if we don’t someone will pay for this.”

  Goodman’s insinuation that someone, even innocent Indians, would be held responsible for Mad Wolf’s vile atrocities, frightened Blade. However, there was not much he could do about it, only pray that Goodman would find Mad Wolf. Callie’s life depended on how fast Blade could get her back to Fort Laramie and a doctor.

  Two days later Blade rode into Fort Laramie. Callie sat slumped against him in the saddle. A curious crowd gathered around them when Blade reined in in front of the infirmary and dismounted. Ignoring the questions flung at him, he quickly carried Callie inside. After a terse explanation and a comforting word to Callie, he left her in the doctor’s expert care. The reason Blade didn’t linger was because he felt the need to find Shannon without delay. He wanted to be the one to tell her how and in what condition they had found Callie. When he left the infirmary he spied Shannon crossing the parade ground, having already heard that Blade had returned with one of the women. He strode out to meet her. “Blade, what happened? Who did you bring back?” “It’s Callie, Shannon. I left her with the doctor.” “Thank God. I’m going to her, she’ll need someone,” Shannon said, pushing past Blade.