Unconquerable Callie

by DeAnn Smallwood

  “Sorry,” he said, “didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Callie rubbed the back of one hand across her forehead and didn’t make the effort to greet him with a smile.

  Seth took her by the arm, led her over to a stump placed near her wagon, and gently pushed her down in the meager shade, lifting the knife from her grip. Then, with great care, he carefully uncurled each finger. Callie laid her head back against the wagon side, closed her eyes, and gave herself up to the bliss of Seth’s gentle massaging. He eased the pain from fingers curled around a knife since early morning.

  “Feels good,” she murmured.

  “When was the last time you took a break?” Seth’s voice was low.

  Callie opened her eyes and spotted a thoughtful tenderness on his face. “I’m not sure. The noon meal? No, I skipped that. I don’t know, Seth. There’s so much meat and with this heat . . . I’m not the only one working hard.”

  “No.” He set her hands back on her lap. “But you’re the only one with no one to spell you. The other women have husbands and children to offer a hand.” He took her knife and moved to the table where he cut a strip of meat. He stopped short, raised the knife, and squinted at it giving a low chuckle.

  “What?” Callie asked belligerently.

  “Honey, you could ride to Jerusalem on this knife.”

  “Huh?”

  “This knife couldn’t cut a hunk of fat.” He returned to her side, squatted down on his heels, and removed a black stone from his back pocket. With swift, sure strokes, he rubbed the knife back and forth, first holding one side flat against the stone, and then the other. After a few minutes, he raised the knife up and carefully ran his thumb and forefinger over the edge. He rubbed it several more strokes before checking it again. This time, he smiled and rose.

  “Perfect,” he said.

  Callie started to stand up, but Seth held up his hand.

  “I’m going to spell you, Callie. Part of this meat’s mine.”

  “I’m sure you have more important things to do than take over my share of the work.” Callie protested, but only halfheartedly. The truth was, she needed the break. Plus, it was nice, very nice, to have Seth close by. She’d seen little of him the last few days. His company was like a drink of cool spring water. Watching his confident movements now, Callie’s heart filled with pride and longing. She lowered her eyes, locking her secret inside: she was in love with Seth McCallister.

  “Getting this meat dried and stored away is important.” He turned and smiled. “Giving you a break before you fall over is important too. I’d hate to see you keel over in the dust, knife in hand.”

  “Not likely, Mr. McCallister,” Callie said. “I’m as tough as any man.”

  “Well, now, I don’t know about that, Callie, but you’re a darn sight prettier.”

  Callie blushed, hoping Seth wouldn’t see how his teasing affected her. “I’d put you in your place, but I’d be a fool to run you off. You just keep working and I’ll sit here enjoying the shade.”

  Seth’s low laugh warmed her. A comfortable silence followed. A gentle breeze stirred the air.

  “Callie.” Seth’s tone was serious. “I don’t want to alarm anyone, but I saw signs of Indians today. Probably a hunting party tracking the buffalo. From the way the ground was beaten down, I’d say it’s a fairly large party. Tracks led away from their camp. They know we’re here. I saw where the grass was flattened. A patch of flattened grass tells me someone lay there watching us. They’ve kept us in sight the last few days.” A worried silence fell, dripping like melting ice. “Like I said, probably nothing to worry about. I’ll tell the rest of the men tonight, but keep that gun of yours within reach. Don’t go anywhere without it, Callie. I’d sure feel better if you had a man to look out after you.”

  “I don’t need a man,” Callie said quietly. “I’ve got you.”

  Seth’s back straightened at her words. He lay down the knife and turned toward her. Callie rose from her seat and stood before him. He gazed at her face as if memorizing each line, the softness around her eyes, and the firmness of her lips. With infinite tenderness, he bent his head and gently rested his lips on hers, filled with the stolen essence that was Callie.

  “Well if that don’t beat all.” A voice boomed, shattering the wall they had built around them. For a brief moment, nothing had existed but the two of them. No meat waiting to be cut, no wagon train, no danger, and, most of all, no reason not to find joy in each other’s embrace.

  “What are you two doing? Fishing dirt out of each other’s eyes?” Henry Henry grinned as he sauntered over, seemingly delighted at the heat working itself up from Seth’s neck. “Naw,” he chuckled, “probably the sun playing tricks on these poor ole eyes of mine.”

  Seth’s eyes narrowed. Callie stepped away from him, then, picking up the knife, attacked the pile of meat as though her life depended on it.

  “Henry.” Seth cursed under his breath.

  “Seth McCallister,” Henry admonished. “Words like that ain’t fit for a lady’s ears.” Henry’s belly shook with suppressed laughter.

  Seth stalked off, his face like a thundercloud. “One of these days, Henry. One of these days.”

  Henry chuckled, unafraid, and Callie smiled, her head bent, her hands busy with the sharpened knife. Amazingly, she was no longer tired and the sun’s rays no longer beat down hot and heavy. No, the sun was smiling rays of happiness.

  Chapter 23

  A pall hung over the camp. Seth had shared his hunches, the sighting of Indians and his belief they watched the camp. And, if that wasn’t sobering enough, early morning, one of the men spotted several mounted braves on a knoll. They’d made no effort to hide themselves.

  Seth kept things moving, each wagon snubbed up close to the one in front. Should he call the alarm, they were to quickly circle the wagons and prepare for battle. He rode quietly up and down the line, his presence calm and reassuring.

  Callie felt as if she dared not close her eyes to blink. She narrowed her gaze against the glare of the sun, sweeping the plains, searching each plant and bush for signs, sensing danger everywhere. The sun was an orange orb in the sky. She had taken to wearing her hair in one long braid, and it lay heavy down her back, escaping damp tendrils curling like white down against the base of her neck.

  The prairie sensed the danger and gave back no sound of life—no birds called out, no breeze ruffled the air. Everything seemed suspended, waiting. Heat shimmers danced above the dry ground. Dust lifted lifelessly, kicked up by hooves. A baby cried from one of the wagons and was quickly shushed.

  The rifle in her hand was heavy but reassuring. She wasn’t sure she could shoot someone, and prayed she’d never have to find out. Still, she knew if it meant saving her life or the lives of those around here, she would do what she had to do. The fear of capture was stronger than her moral feelings about taking a life.

  Seth had warned them, capture was only one of the fears. The Indians he’d encountered were as wary of the white man as he was of them. He cautioned that, often, they approached a train only to barter or trade for goods. There were a couple hot heads on the train and he pulled them aside, warning them of the possible consequences of too hasty an action.

  The morning dragged on. Fear as sharp and tangy as cheese could be tasted. Callie found herself forgetting to breathe, and when she did, it was quiet and shallow, barely enough to fill her lungs. She forced herself not to dwell on her fear for those she had come to love: little Charlie, baby Hope, Caleb, Phyllis, Jacob, Becky, Tom . . . She stopped naming names, realizing that there wasn’t anyone on the train that hadn’t someway touched her life and her heart. No one, no one must be hurt.

  There was a shout. Five Indians could be seen in the distance, outlined against the blue Nebraska sky. It was almost a relief. Seth raised his hand, halting the
lumbering train and the command of “Circle the wagons” rang out. Every man, woman, and child knew what the implication of those three words. Hearts pounded, hands grew unsteady, and dread took up a permanent residence in everyone’s heart.

  Her wagon was one of the first to circle and, in a matter of minutes, wagons formed a tight barrier. Weapons in hand, men knelt or lay on their bellies under wagons and behind whatever they felt would give them any shelter. Rifles were ready and fingers were curled around triggers. Seth rode quietly by, gently whispering caution against action unless he gave the word.

  He stopped at her wagon where she crouched behind the wheel, rifle resting through one of the spokes.

  “You okay? Looks like a parley party coming for trade or barter. But you can bet the rest of the raiding party is hidden close by, watching. Don’t let your guard down.”

  “Yes.” Her response caught in her throat. She spoke up. “I’m okay, Seth. Don’t worry about me.”

  He smiled at her, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Then soberly, with a straight back, he rode toward the small band as they closed the distance to the wagons.

  Callie nervously ran her tongue over her dry lips and gripped the rifle tighter as she watched Seth, Henry Henry by his side. They pulled up just a few feet from the five painted men, close enough now that Callie could hear their guttural grunts as they made their wants known. The man doing the most of the talking was the leader, a fact made obvious by his rigid, imposing posture, the brightly decorated lance held firmly in his hand and the deference paid him by the band that formed a tight rear guard. His face was painted with bolder, vermilion stripes than the others in his party, but his was a face that would command attention with or without paint. Callie had heard of war paint, but these stripes didn’t have the threatening look she assumed a face painted for war would. His muscular, bare chest, the color of copper, was slashed with lightening bolt stripes.

  In his free hand, he clutched a braided rope that circled around the neck and over the nose of a beautiful paint mare. The horse was predominately a light golden brown with a large white circle blanketing her rear. She held her head proudly and rather than docilely following, her brown and white feet were in constant motion as she sidestepped and danced proudly, distaining the rope that held her captive. A smaller, creamy white circle outlined one eye, giving the saucy mare the appearance of a partially masked bandit.

  As the Indian talked, he punctuated his words with a jerk on the horse’s rope. And at one point, after hearing Seth’s response, he forcefully raised his lance, pressed his knees into his horse’s sides, and commanded it to turn a half circle. His outstretched lance waved over the hills, and like a magician calling forth mystic powers, a line of mounted Indians materialized. Not too many, but enough to attack and destroy the circled wagons.

  Callie nervously wiped her hands down her skirt. Her heart thumped in her chest. Could she pull the trigger and shoot a person? She forced herself not to think what could happen should the Indians overcome them. She’d heard tales of horror awaiting captives. Yes, she could shoot if her life and the lives of other depended on it.

  Seth sat unmoving in the saddle, seemingly unimpressed by the show of force. Henry Henry slouched, slumped over his saddle horn. Callie knew each man’s looks were deceiving. They were forces to reckon with. Callie was grateful it was Henry out there alongside Seth.

  Then the Indian’s voice raised with unmistakable anger as Seth shook his head from side-to-side. The negative motion accompanied words, spoken low, followed by more head shaking, this time more vehemently. The Indian raised the lance high, his powerful arm shaking it. Seth tensed, then abruptly leaned over and spoke to Henry. Henry wheeled his horse around and galloped back, directly to Callie’s wagon.

  He pulled his horse up short and leaned close.

  “Ma’am, Seth wants you to get in your wagon real quick like.” His words were hurried. “Take your rifle and don’t leave that wagon. Don’t even stick your head out. Understand, Ma’am, uh, Miz Callie?”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t have no time for explanation, just do as he asks. Seth’s got his reasons.”

  “Henry, I’m needed out here where I can see to shoot. You know I shoot as well as any man and I don’t need to be hiding in that wagon.” Callie clamped her jaw tight and lifted her chin, staring hard at Henry.

  “Now don’t get your tail feathers ruffled,” Henry said. “Don’t reckon none it would hurt to tell you what’s all the pallaverin’s about. That’s Wolf Dog, one of the Oglala Sioux chiefs. Them men on the hill are just waiting for his command to attack. It’s our bad luck that we’ve come across their path when they’re out, hunting, tracking the buffalo. They’ve been watching us for days.” Henry Henry glanced back to Seth.

  “Henry, what’s that got to do with me?”

  Henry turned to the side and spit into the dry dust. Wiping a dirty hand across the lower half of his face, he said, “‘Pears Wolf Dog has a hankerin’ for you.” He held up his hand at Callie’s sound of astonished objection. “Now just a minute. It ain’t you he wants. Well,” he faltered, “it is you, but more’n that, it’s your hair.”

  “My hair?” Callie’s hand involuntarily reached for the heavy braid. “My hair?”

  “It’s like this, Miz Callie. Wolf Dog thinks if he can have you for his woman, your hair would give him powerful visions. He would be much looked up to, envied. It’s lucky he wants you alive or he’d be takin’ your hair another way,” Henry warned. “He’s calling you White Cloud Woman and darned if he ain’t willin’ to trade for you. He’s offerin’ Seth that fine mare.” For a moment, Henry’s eyes twinkled as he absorbed the dumbfounded look on Callie’s face.

  “He wants me for his, his woman?” Callie asked.

  “Yep. Bad enough to part with that pretty paint. And believe you me, that horse is highly valued. But the Oglala are family people and he seems to think you and that white hair of yours is worth it.” Henry scratched his whiskered chin as if puzzling Callie’s worth.

  “Now, I’ve tole you. So you just get in the wagon and stay there. Let us handle this business.” He turned back to the lone man still trying to reason with an angry chief.

  “Henry,” Callie called after him. “If Seth doesn’t trade me, will they attack?” She held her breath.

  Henry didn’t stop, but over his shoulder Callie heard the one word.

  “Yep.”

  Chapter 24

  Callie felt rooted to one spot as she absently brought the silver braid around to the front of her shoulder. Her stubbornness had gotten them into this mess and because of her reluctance to wear a bonnet, as Seth had advised and warned, they were now in serious jeopardy of being attacked and killed.

  She looked across the short distance to where Seth argued for her life and for the others on the train. He wouldn’t sacrifice her no matter what. She also knew that Henry Henry wasn’t exaggerating when he said the Indians would attack if the chief didn’t get his way. If he didn’t get her. Her stomach lurched. She turned away from the frightening scene and disappeared into her wagon.

  Minutes later, she reappeared, her mouth set in a firm line. Her head held high, her shoulders back, her bonnet tied firmly in place. She determinedly strode across the field, not toward Seth or Henry Henry, but in a direct line to Wolf Dog.

  Seth caught sight of her only when she brushed past him. His curse rang out loud and clear in the charged air. Wolf Dog turned his eyes from Seth and with a stoic expression, he watched as she approached.

  “Callie,” Seth ground out her name between clenched teeth, “get back.”

  He lightly touched his horse’s flanks and it advanced forward to intercept her. The braves guarding Wolf Dog moved in closer, their faces fixed in fierce scowls.

  Wolf Dog jerked his lance and their movement stopped. He nudged hi
s horse with his knees and the horse took a few steps toward Callie.

  “Seth,” Callie said quietly, “don’t you dare interfere. I know what I’m doing and if you stop me, I’ll never forgive you.”

  “Damn,” Seth muttered, “you don’t know what you’re doing. Callie, I order you to . . .” Before he could finish the sentence or close the gap between them, Callie stood by Wolf Dog’s horse, looking up at the warrior’s cold, unwavering gaze.

  Seth reached for his rifle, then stopped short. Callie was in the direct line of fire. There was no way he could shoot without hitting her. His mouth cotton dry, he helplessly watched her place herself in what could only result in her captivity or death. Of the two, death would be preferable. Wolf Dog may want Callie because of her hair’s big medicine, but Seth knew that Callie would suffer much before she would break to the demands of the Indian chief. Pride in this fearless woman filled him, along with the agony of what he was helpless to prevent.

  He lowered his head, then glanced over at Henry Henry. Their eyes met and the unspoken message was clear. No matter what, Callie must not be taken captive by Wolf Dog.

  Seth gently and slowly started to raise his rifle, his finger curling around the trigger. He had one chance to stop Wolf Dog from sweeping Callie up behind him and galloping back to the rest of his braves. He’d fire two shots. One wounding Callie and knocking her out of the way and the second would be for Wolf Dog. As much as he hated to take the proud chief’s life, he had an obligation to protect the train and an obligation to protect that precious, stubborn woman so willing to sacrifice herself.

  Just as he was ready to snap the rifle into firing position, Callie’s voice rang out.

  Seth froze.

  “Wolf Dog, Chief of the Oglala Sioux, I am honored by your offer. But I would not make you a good wife.” She rushed on, not letting the scowl on the man’s face stop her. She had to get the words out and pray that Wolf Dog understood her. Her pulse pounded in her throat and her mouth was so dry she had to swallow before continuing. Something in her told her that she could not show fear. She looked Wolf Dog in the eyes, giving every appearance of strength and unflinching courage she could muster.