Yellowstone Awakening
Book 3
Yellowstone Romance Series
By Peggy L Henderson
Copyright © 2012 by Peggy Henderson
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author.
Acknowledgement
As always, thanks to my critique partner, Carol Spradling, for her keen eye, suggestions, and insights. The series continues because of her.
Arlene Foster, my beta reader. She is the first person to see the finished manuscript, and I thank her for her fresh eyes and comments.
Richard Henderson, my husband, for indulging and supporting my writing habit. Romance novels are not his cup of tea, but at least he offers solid opinions about the great outdoors.
Thank you, Ramona Lockwood, for creating the beautiful covers for this series! (http://coversbyramona.blogspot.com)
The Act Of Dedication, March 1, 1872
An Act by Congress to set apart a certain tract of land lying near the headwaters of the Yellowstone River as a public park or pleasuring ground for the benefit and enjoyment of the people.
Chapter 1
Yellowstone Plateau, 1871
Kyle Russell gritted his teeth, and strained in frustration against the leather thongs that sliced into his wrists. His fingers tingled from lack of circulation. Sweat soaked his forehead, running in rivulets down the sides of his face, and he blinked away the sting of salt entering his eyes.
Damn! Why did his horse have to spook just because a flock of geese took flight out of the marsh in front of them? His mare was dead-broke, and nothing usually bothered her. She’d acted uncomfortable sloshing through that boggy quagmire they had to get across, and he should have paid better attention to the animal’s instincts. Recent heavy rains had made some of the familiar trails almost impassable, but he hadn’t listened to his common sense to take a detour around the marsh.
His carelessness had not only landed him in the muck, but he’d also found himself staring down the rifle barrels of six unfriendly Crow warriors. Perhaps his horse had sensed them lying in wait, and that’s why she’d been so edgy, but his eagerness to get home had made him ignore his mare’s body language. Mistakes like that will get you killed, you know that. Grandpa taught you better than to ever let your guard down.
Kyle shook his head to fling some of his tousled hair out of his face. The effort proved futile. In his mind, he could hear his mother scolding him, telling him he needed to cut it more frequently, and wear it in the short-cropped style of his father. Kyle preferred his hair longer. He didn’t need an added reminder of how much he looked like his father. Hell, if these Crows had anything to say about it, he might lose his entire golden mop soon.
Laughing Badger was probably living up to his name right about now. The Crow had been chomping at the bit for an opportunity to catch him off-guard like this for a long time, and Kyle could just picture the warrior salivating, thinking of different ways to torture him. Last summer, Kyle and his cousin Josh had made a fool out of Laughing Badger when they’d snuck into his village, and practically under the warrior’s nose, taken back a band of horses that the Crow had stolen from them. The animosity between them had escalated from mere thievery, and each trying to outwit the other, to downright open hostility. Apparently, Laughing Badger carried a grudge for a long time.
Kyle had to admit that the warrior definitely had the advantage over him this time. He’d been searching his mind to figure a way out of his current predicament all day. The small knife concealed in a pocket inside his britches was inaccessible. He’d already sliced his wrists raw to the point of bleeding in an effort to access it.
Thankfully, the heat of the afternoon sun was giving way to early evening’s cooler air. Kyle licked at his dry lips, and leaned back against the tree pole he was tethered to. Whatever the war chief had in store for him, it apparently included letting him die of thirst and hunger. Why couldn’t things be like in the old days, those times his father and grandfather had told him stories about?
Back in the good old days, the fur trappers and mountain men were the only whites roaming these hills, and all they had to worry about were warring Blackfoot. Now, the Crow had joined in their animosity against the whites, who encroached on the ancient Indian territories in ever increasing numbers. With the discovery of gold further to the north in Montana Territory in ‘63, towns had sprung up practically overnight. The fact that the Indians claimed this land was overshadowed by white men’s greed.
Kyle could well understand the anger and resentment felt by the Indians. It was only due to his grandfather and father’s reputations that most of the tribes left him alone in the valley along the Madison River. It had been three years since his parents packed up after the death of his grandpa and grandma, and moved to the city. With the disappearance of the fur trappers, trading in the remote Madison Valley had come to a standstill, and Kyle’s father and Uncle Samuel had seized on the opportunity to run a supply depot in Virginia City.
Three of Kyle’s sisters had already left the valley after they married, and his unwed sister Hannah had been more than happy about the move, but he and his cousin, Josh Osborne, had stayed at the old homestead. Together, they raised a small band of horses in the valley, which they trained and sold in the city. Explorers and travelers always sought a well-schooled mountain pony.
His work as a scout and guide through the vast Yellowstone Wilderness kept him busy in the summer months. Word of the natural wonders of the region had reached scientists and adventurers in the east, and Kyle happily shared his knowledge of the Yellowstone with them.
He was within a two day’s ride from home after leading a group of prospectors from Helena through the Yellowstone Canyon area, when his little mishap in the marsh occurred. After his mare unceremoniously dumped him in the mud, she’d taken off with such speed through the bog, it amazed even Kyle that she could maneuver so quickly through that slush. Along with his horse, he’d lost his supplies, and his prized Winchester Rifle. Cursing loudly, he’d pulled himself from the muck, only to be surrounded by Laughing Badger and his warriors.
The war chief must have wet his pants from glee at finding his nemesis served to him practically on a silver platter. Kyle worked the leather against the wooden pole with renewed vigor. Whatever Laughing Badger had planned, he knew the odds would be stacked against him.
Kyle raised his head to survey his surroundings. The Crow village consisted of twelve teepees, and included women and children, as well as old men. Most of the younger warriors were not present. Kyle had observed Laughing Badger and a bunch of men mount their horses and leave shortly after bringing him here.
Many of the older adults had given the warrior disapproving looks for bringing a white captive to the village. Perhaps they remembered a time when whites and Crow lived in peace. It was doubtful any of them would come to his aid and perhaps free him. No one would want to act against their war chief, who protected the village.
Kyle worked his tongue inside his mouth in a futile attempt to produce saliva. As if his actions had been noticed, an old woman walked his way, carrying a wooden bowl. She smiled a toothless smile at him, her face wrinkled from age, and held the bowl to his lips. Kyle eyed the contents. Clear liquid. He opened his mouth and drank eagerly. The cool, refreshing water
was heaven sliding down his throat.
He drained the bowl. “Thank you, grandmother.” He spoke in Absaroka, his voice a mere hoarse whisper.
“You favor your father,” the woman said. “He brought honor to the Absaroka and many other nations for defeating our old enemies, the Blackfoot, many years ago.”
Kyle groaned and closed his eyes. His father’s run against a village of Blackfoot warriors was legendary in these mountains. How many times had he endured listening to the story? Although his parents never mentioned it, other people did, and to Kyle it seemed as if they were looking at him to duplicate his father’s feat in some way. Both Indians and white men would size him up once they knew he was Chase Russell’s son, probably wondering silently if he could do what his father had done.
Kyle often wondered the same thing. He’d lived in his father’s shadow all his life. Could he ever hope to measure up to the man? Even though Chase Russell spoke with unconventional words, and a lot of his actions caused eyebrows to raise, everyone seemed to look up to him. Everyone respected him. He’d come to the wild Montana mountains, a complete greenhorn from the big city, and practically overnight had turned into one of the most legendary mountain men in the region, among both Indians and whites. It didn’t matter that he’d chosen to move his family to the city. His reputation followed him. Kyle, on the other hand, lived a quiet life in the Madison Valley. If word of his capture got out, he’d never hear the end of it.
A loud commotion at the other end of the village drew his attention. The old woman turned and scurried away. Kyle squinted to focus his eyes into the distance. A group of riders approached the village. He recognized Laughing Badger in the lead. The warrior’s long black hair blew in the breeze. His bonnet of feathers, signifying him as a war chief, swayed on his head. Six riders followed behind. Kyle blinked, making sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him. At the rear of the group, being led by one of the men, was his mare. And she carried a rider.
“What the hell,” he mumbled under his breath. He waited for the group to come closer. His eyes were definitely not playing tricks on him. That was a white woman astride his mare. And by the way she sat the horse, with her head hanging nearly to her chest, and her upper body swaying as if she was about to fall out of the saddle, she was in bad shape.
Anger flooded his system. Where the hell did these warriors find a white woman? This was dangerous enough territory for men to travel through, even without hostile Indians roaming the land. The terrain alone could test even the hardiest men. For white travelers to bring women here was foolish and irresponsible.
Laughing Badger pulled his horse up in front of Kyle, a broad grin on his face.
“I have found your horse. She will make a nice addition to my string.” He held up the Winchester. “And your rifle is one of the finest I have seen.”
Kyle gritted his teeth. “That rifle is useless to you. You don’t have any ammunition for it.”
The smile left the warrior’s face. Apparently he hadn’t thought of that. He pulled his horse around to leave.
“Since when do the Crow take white women as prisoners? Isn’t that beneath even you?” The insult had its desired effect. Laughing Badger halted his horse, and glared down at Kyle.
“We found her wandering in the woods,” he snarled.
“Oh, so out of the goodness of your heart, you thought to rescue her?” Kyle taunted.
The warrior leapt from his horse and rushed him, his face inches from Kyle’s. “I hear white women are held in high regard with some of the river men on the Missouri,” he sneered. “She might command a large price.”
Kyle laughed. “Look at her,” he said, jutting his chin in the direction of the woman still swaying on his mare. She hadn’t so much as raised her head. He prayed she didn’t understand Absaroka. “She’s half-dead already. No one wants rotten meat.”
Laughing Badger turned away from him, and with quick and forceful steps walked up to the horse. He reached for the woman’s arm, and yanked her out of the saddle. Her head shot up, and Kyle caught the wide-eyed look of panic in her startling blue eyes just before she hit the ground. Sobbing, she fell to her knees. The warrior hauled her off the ground, and dragged her toward Kyle. With a weak moan, she sank to her knees in front of him.
“If she lives through the night, I will let you fight for her freedom in the morning,” Laughing Badger said. Without another glance at him or the woman, he strode off.
Just great. Kyle frowned. Now he was held responsible for the safety of a strange female on top of trying to get his own scalp out of here intact. The villagers who had gathered around to watch dispersed. The old woman who brought him water earlier lingered longer than the rest. With a sad shake of her head, she finally turned and shuffled away.
Kyle glanced at the woman slumped on the ground at his feet. Her head was cradled in her hands, and by the way her body shook, he could tell she was crying.
Kyle worked his leather binding down along the pole, groaning in silence at the fiery pain in his shoulders from the prolonged unnatural position his arms had endured all day. It wouldn’t get any easier, he told himself.
He sank to his knees, and studied her. She looked so small and delicate, sitting there with her chin dropped toward her chest. Her blonde hair came loose in long disheveled curls from its ties in several places. The fancy blue dress she wore was torn at the shoulder.
“Are you hurt?” he asked. She didn’t move or respond to his question, and Kyle wasn’t sure if she’d even heard him. “Lady, are you hurt?” he asked again, his voice louder this time.
She slowly raised her head in his direction, wiping away the moisture on her face. Kyle stared. A sudden, unexpected jolt of adrenaline flooded his system. Blue eyes the color of a summer sky met his stare. The depth of emotion in her gaze left him stunned and speechless momentarily. Fear. Anguish. Sadness. Hope. He saw it all. He drew his eyebrows together in wonder at his reaction.
“Are you hurt?” he asked a third time, softening his tone.
She shook her head. “No,” she whispered.
He didn’t believe her for a second. Silently, he cursed Laughing Badger.
“What’s going to happen to me?” she asked softly, and raised her head more fully, glancing around. Her hand swept some loose strands of hair from her face.
Kyle sucked in a deep breath. He couldn’t let her know that Laughing Badger intended to sell her to the highest bidder, Indian or white man, the first chance he got. “Nothing. Don’t worry about that right now. I’ll make sure no harm comes to you.”
Her eyes grew even larger than before. She looked at him, and studied his face. Then her eyes lingered on his hands tied against the tree behind his back. A sudden warm sensation doused him under her perusal. “But, you’re a prisoner,” she finally said in her soft, nearly inaudible voice. “What can you possibly do to help?”
Kyle ground his teeth. He was still working out that little detail. “I’ll think of something,” he answered.
She seemed to accept his answer, and nodded her head slightly. Her chin dropped again, and she stared at the delicate hands in her lap. The wide skirt of her silk dress fanned out around her. Kyle wondered again what stupid man would bring a woman into the wilderness. This woman, heck she was no more than a mere girl, wore expensive clothing he’d seen fancy ladies wear in Virginia City or Helena.
Kyle encountered adventurers and dandy easterners on a regular basis, and his wonder never ceased as to what these men were thinking. Coming to this remote wilderness was not a Sunday picnic ride like they were used to in their big, fancy cities. Whenever someone commissioned him as guide through the region, Kyle made it his habit to inspect every piece of equipment these inexperienced greenhorns brought with them. On most, if not all, occasions, he rejected more than half of the useless and cumbersome supplies they intended to trek through the wilderness. If they refused to relinquish what he intended to leave behind, Kyle did not accept the assignment. He would never allow a w
oman to come along.
A man had to be prepared for anything here, and death was a breath away at every turn. Yeah, look at yourself. You grew up in these mountains, and your carelessness might be the end of you come morning. He could see the headline in the Helena Gazette already. “Famous mountain man’s son succumbs to Indians. Kyle Russell is unable to duplicate his legendary father’s feat, and dies at the hands of a band of Crow warriors.” He scoffed again at his own stupidity.
Kyle watched in silence as the village settled in for the evening. Cooking fires burned brightly, and families sat outside their teepees. Children played with rocks and sticks, and the women served food to the men. Kyle’s own stomach grumbled loudly. When darkness had fully descended on them, he noticed the old woman who’d brought him water shuffle slowly toward him again. She turned her head over her shoulder once, then straightened her hunched back as best as she could, and hurried to him.
“I bring some food,” she said in a hushed tone. Her voice startled the girl next to him. She gasped in surprise when she saw the Indian woman, and inched closer to him. Kyle’s skin tingled when her knee made contact with his thigh. He mentally shook his head, confused by his reaction.
“Thank you for your kindness, grandmother,” he said to the ancient Indian woman. “Give the food to her, if she’ll eat it.” He turned his head to the girl hovering next to him. “Are you hungry?” he asked quietly. She looked up at him with her big doe eyes, and nodded her head slightly. The urge to wrap his arms around her, and protect her, hit him with such intensity, he strained against his bindings.
The old woman held a bowl out for her. The girl accepted it hesitantly, and looked at the contents. Large chunks of meat filled the container.
“I must return to my teepee,” the old woman said, and hurried off. No sooner had she turned her back, and the girl grabbed a piece of meat and tore into it hungrily. Kyle drew his eyebrows together, watching her devour the food. How long had she gone without eating?
Yellowstone Awakening (Yellowstone Romance Series Book 3) Page 1
