Walks Alone

by Sandi Rog

  “Why do you paint your horse?” The words tumbled from her mouth without thought. Curiosity had gotten the best of her.

  “My people believe lightning gives the horse speed. And each handprint represents one less enemy I have to deal with.” His eyes flashed beneath his mask of paint as he trudged toward her.

  So he was a murderer. If only she’d escaped last night when she had the chance. At least then the lights of Denver were near. How had she gotten herself into such a mess?

  Julesburg.

  Funny how she had mistrusted that gentleman who had spoken to her on the train. All he had done was look at her, and she’d run away. Now here she was held captive by a savage.

  She plopped down on the ground. The bustle in her dress was losing its spring, as was she. She opened her carpetbag and carefully took out the pictures of her parents. Would they be disappointed in her? Maybe she should have stayed in New York.

  No. She never should have had to endure Uncle Horace’s abuse. She had found a way out and worked hard to take it. Besides, she had been Uncle Horace’s captive long enough. But didn’t she find herself in much the same circumstance?

  She sensed White Eagle standing behind her.

  “Who are they?”

  “None of your business,” she said.

  He knelt down. The warmth of his nearness made her shiver. “Your parents?”

  She didn’t answer.

  Walking around, he sat next to her and held out some dried meat. “It’s elk.”

  Her stomach hurt after refusing to eat the night before. She didn’t care what it was, as long as it wasn’t turtle, so she took it from him.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. She really didn’t want to show any form of thankfulness, but the habit of good behavior betrayed her feelings. She bit into the dried meat. Its rich flavor made her mouth water for more.

  He moved onto his side, propping himself on his elbow, and took a bite of his jerky.

  “May I see?” he said, gesturing toward the photographs.

  Chin up, she held them out just far enough for him to see but refused to let go of the frames.

  “Your mother?”

  Anna nodded.

  “She was beautiful. You look like her.”

  Her cheeks grew warm, but she dismissed the compliment. In hopes that she wouldn’t try to escape again, he might be trying to win her over with his smooth words, just like Uncle Horace did with his woman-of-the-week. He’d con them with his pretty talk, and once he got what he wanted, he dismissed them.

  Gently, she wrapped the frames back up and put them away in her carpetbag. She took out her mirror and brush, and nearly fainted when she caught a glimpse of her face. The lower half was red and chapped, while the top half was white. She’d never looked so awful. Freckles would definitely come out. She moaned.

  “It’s not so bad.” He cleared his throat in a way that sounded like he stifled a chuckle. “Smear mud on your face. That’ll protect your skin from the sun.”

  “I’d look awful.”

  “No worse than now.”

  She turned to give him a piece of her mind then noticed a hint of amusement playing in his eyes. Managing a “humph,” she turned back to the mirror. Her hair was full of pine needles and burs. She picked out what burs she could and pulled the brush through its tangles. It was far too long. What a pain it was brushing through the snarls.

  “Want me to help?”

  “No.” She jerked the brush through a knot. “Don’t touch me.”

  He took a deep breath. “Fine.” He continued to lie there, watching.

  Turning her back to him, she pulled her hair over her shoulder and brushed through the strands. She felt his eyes burning through her. “Stop looking at me.” She tossed the words over her shoulder.

  “A beautiful woman can’t expect a man not to look when he has the chance.”

  Her cheeks went hot. “Don’t you have something to do? Shouldn’t you go feed the horse or something?”

  They both glanced at the horse. He was eating the grass between the trees.

  “Well, just go away and leave me alone.”

  “You’ve missed a spot,” he said, holding up a strand full of knots and burs.

  “How dare you touch me.” She snatched it from him.

  “I touched you more last night.” He chuckled. “This was nothing.”

  “That’s because you were busy kidnapping me.” She climbed to her feet, moving her skirt out from under her. “You have no right to laugh and act as though nothing is wrong. You’re a kidnapper. I shouldn’t be here right now. I should be in—”

  “Denver City. I know.” His eyes narrowed, and he acted as though he just tasted something nasty. “If I hear you say that name again, I’ll gag you.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  He raised his brow. “I would.”

  “Why you . . . you—”

  “You what?” He lifted a shoulder.

  “Savage.”

  He frowned.

  Good, her words had the effect she wanted. She marched toward the stream.

  “We better get going.”

  “What? We hardly had time to rest.” Her backside was killing her, and the last thing she wanted was to get back on that horse.

  “We’ll stay in the shade of the trees as much as possible. Don’t want your burn to get worse. It means going the long way, so we don’t have much time. But first, get rid of that wire from under your dress.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.” He waved a hand. “Do it.”

  “Why?” She would be forced to buy a new bustle.

  “It’s in the way.” He pointed to some nearby bushes. “Go.”

  She stomped over to the bushes, and with trembling hands she wiggled out of her bustle. “Lord, I don’t know what You have in mind,” she mumbled. “But please get me out of this. And soon.” The hem of her skirt fell to the ground and dragged in the dirt. It would be ruined.

  When she returned, he’d bound her carpetbag to the horse and mounted. He motioned for her to toss the bustle aside. She hesitated. The red stripes suddenly seemed darker across his cheeks and chin, and when his mouth turned downward, she dropped it at her feet. He could look awfully mean and threatening when he wanted to, especially his eyes behind that black mask of paint.

  He swung her up on the horse in front of him, his large hand encasing her own. One would be enough to clamp itself around her neck and strangle her to death. When she came down, she gasped from the pain in her rump.

  He took her about the waist and set her on his thigh. It did ease the ache, but she was uncomfortably close to the man.

  ~*~

  Later in the day, when they stopped near a stream, Annd watched White Eagle pull free his bow and arrow. He leaped onto a protruding rock with ease. Without a sound, he armed his bow with a slender arrow and aimed it at the water.

  He stood there like a statue, and Anna couldn’t help but admire the beauty of his dark hair as it hung over his broad shoulders. The sunlight cast a blue sheen over the thick strands.

  She crossed her arms and waited. Would he succeed in making a catch? His face was serious beneath the bandit-like mask of black paint, and she tried to imagine what he would look like without it. The hard curves and outlines of his exposed jaw were rather attractive. The wind caught the leather dangling in his hair. From his moccasins, to his leggings, to the feathers in his hair, he was like no man she’d ever met.

  The arrow flew into the water faster than she could blink, and he jumped in after it. When he pulled it up, a large fish floundered on its end.

  She shrugged and turned her back to him. So she was impressed—that didn’t mean she had to show it.

  After eating, they were off again. By nightfall she was exhausted but relieved that the sun hadn’t been beating down on her like before. Her head, for once, didn’t ache, and her backside wasn’t nearly as sore.

  After making camp for the night, they ate a rabb
it White Eagle had shot. She didn’t mind preparing rabbit; she’d done that a number of times for Uncle Horace.

  The stars were bright, and a whisper of wind in the pines had a calming effect. The mountain air carried a peacefulness to it she’d never experienced before. In New York City the rumble of carriages over cobblestones and the laughter and talk of people always filled the streets. Here, all was quiet, tranquil, as though she were alone in the world, almost like a dream. But this dream was a nightmare, and she’d never be able to escape with wakefulness.

  Soon, supper was over and darkness cloaked the trees. White Eagle added branches to the campfire. He heaped together pine needles and spread buckskin over them next to the fire. He then motioned for her to come.

  The firelight danced in his eyes as she walked over to him. Slowly she knelt down on the soft skin, taking in the warmth of the flames.

  “Get some rest,” he said, his voice a soft murmur.

  Exhausted, she curled up near the warm fire, surprised at the softness of the ground beneath her. She rested her head on her arm, thinking how much more comfortable this bed of pine needles was compared to the thin blanket she’d slept on next to the wagons.

  White Eagle stretched out on the buckskin and lay down behind her.

  She stiffened, trapped between him and the flames.

  “Don’t want you sneaking off again,” he said, causing every nerve to stand on alert.

  “And where would I go? I can’t see Denver City anymore.”

  Burning pine, mingling with his musk and leather, filled her senses. Conscious of the length of his body so near hers, she stared for a long time into the flickering flames, afraid to move, afraid they might inadvertently touch. But eventually, her eyes grew heavy and the noise of nearby crickets lulled her to sleep.

  Sometime in the night, a blood-curdling howl awakened her. She bolted upright.

  She was alone.

  The howl came again, echoing off the canyon walls, and several more howls joined in. The light hairs on her arms and neck stood on end. The fire had dimmed, and White Eagle was nowhere to be seen.

  “Mr. Eagle?” she called, her voice small.

  From out of nowhere, branches dropped onto the flames.

  “Here,” he said, his voice a welcoming comfort, and for the first time, she was glad to see him.

  “What was dat . . . that?” she asked, still shivering with fear.

  More howls came again, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out.

  He knelt down behind her and wrapped his buckskin around her, enveloping her in his protection.

  “You’re safe,” he whispered in her ear.

  “What was it?” She clung to him.

  “Coyotes.”

  She bristled. “Will they attack us?”

  “Not if we stay close to the fire.”

  “I hope Bet is safe.”

  “Running Cloud will keep her safe.”

  “He would harm me.” Anna rested her chin on her knees.

  “She pleases him.”

  White Eagle tightened his arms around her; she didn’t fight it. Warmth, safety, and calm radiated from him.

  “So, Woman Of Sorrow has a name. What about you, Walks Alone?”

  “Humph.” She turned her nose in the air, not caring if she risked the comfort of his arms. He was her captor, and she wasn’t about to give him what he wanted.

  Thankfully, he continued to hold her.

  After some time, he encouraged her to lie down. She gazed into the flames, wishing she was anywhere but lost in the dark Rocky Mountains of Colorado Territory. It was as if the wilderness had swallowed her whole. What she wouldn’t give to be in civilization again.

  She cautiously moved closer to him. His heavy arm draped over her waist, its calming strength warming her.

  Chapter Seven

  The following day, White Eagle stopped near a river to rest. Anna got her carpetbag, took out her brush, and proceeded to get the tangles out of her hair. She had lost all of her hairpins, and her dress was torn and filthy.

  She should be home by now. She could be taking a warm bath and eating a decent breakfast. Her bed would be soft and inviting, and there would be no coyotes terrifying her in the middle of the night and no threats of snakes crawling into her boots. Her feet ached, for she hadn’t taken her boots off since the day she bathed in the river.

  Why wouldn’t God allow her to be free? Why did she always have to be trapped, someone’s captive? She marched over to the nearby water and wet her brush. Why had God allowed this to happen? Why wouldn’t He help her get home?

  Her hair wasn’t cooperating. “I’d chop you off if I had a pair of scissors in my hands,” she said to the tangled mass as she brushed it over her shoulder.

  “Here.” White Eagle tossed her his dagger. It landed, point in the ground, at her feet.

  “This is all your fault.” She pointed her brush at him, not in the mood for his games.

  “I didn’t choose to come to the west. A woman, all alone.” His jaw pulsed in agitation.

  It was obvious the sleepless nights were finally taking their toll. If he hadn’t kidnapped her, neither one of them would be having sleepless nights. She decided to play it smart and keep her mouth shut.

  “What would your parents say? If they knew their daughter went all by herself to the Western Territories?” He spoke in his thick accent and glared at her, disapproval in his eyes.

  “It’s none of your business. You don’t know what my life was like before this. Who are you to say anything at all? You are nothing but a wild savage who has nothing better to do with himself than to kidnap innocent women.”

  Anna stood and marched away from him between the trees and up the steep bank. Her loose tresses snagged in a tree branch. She jerked herself free then stomped away through the brush.

  “You probably can’t even read,” she shouted over her shoulder. “Intelligence is something you certainly don’t have.” Except for the fact that he spoke English. “Some people just have a knack for picking up new languages. Even those who can’t read—even savages!”

  She swallowed back tears. Perhaps it was foolish of her to come so far on her own. Her papa would turn in his grave if he knew where she was right now. And yet she’d only been finishing what they had started so long ago. “What do you know of freedom, of journeying halfway across the world to make a new home?” she shouted over her shoulder. “You don’t even know me!”

  Her foot slipped out from under her, and she slid down the embankment. She screamed and hit bottom, landing with her ankle wedged between two rocks. Pain shot through her foot as she tried to balance herself on the other.

  White Eagle rushed to her, sliding part of the way and sending dirt and pinecones down the slope, until he was next to her. He braced her around the waist and eased the weight off her foot.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “My ankle,” was all she could say as tears welled in her eyes. A whimper burst from her lips. She wiped the tears from her face, but pain shot from her ankle, and she cried out again.

  “Lean against me.”

  She held onto his shoulder as he eased her pained foot out of the crevice. He scooped her into his arms and carried her back up the hill.

  Anger welled inside as her ankle throbbed. She thought her situation couldn’t get any worse, until now.

  “This is all your fault.”

  “I didn’t push you over the embankment. Next time, quit talking and watch where you’re going,” he said, breathless.

  They reached the top of the hill. “Put me down.”

  He obliged her.

  She balanced on her good foot and leaned against a tree. “I have never met a more arrogant Indian in all my life!”

  Crossing his arms, he raised a brow. “Have you ever met an Indian before this?”

  Of course not, but she didn’t dare voice her response. Instead, she put her nose in the air and turned to leave. Knife-like pain sliced through her ankle, and
she fell to her knees, crying in renewed pain.

  He seized her, swung her back up into his arms, and carried her to their camp.

  She cried on his chest.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  She sniffed and pursed her lips. “Anna. I want to go home. Please, just take me home.” The only home she had was a place she’d never been to before, and likely she’d never get there. Loneliness and defeat came over her. She should have gotten off near Julesburg. That thought only made her cry harder.

  “I’m such a fool,” she said.

  “You’re not a fool.”

  He set her near the water’s edge, crouched down next to her and reached for her boot.

  “Please don’t.” She sniffed. “Snakes will crawl in it.”

  He paused and raised his brow. “Is that why you don’t take off your boots?”

  She nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks. She appreciated his sympathy, but she still wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for him. “It’s not proper to make me marry you.” She wiped her tears with the back of her hand. “Why can’t you take me to Denver City? Just tell Running Cloud that you don’t want me.”

  He rested his hand on a rock and chuckled.

  Did he find her circumstances so mirthful? She sniffed back her tears and straightened, trying to regain her dignity.

  “You haven’t taken your boots off all this time because of snakes?” He roared with laughter.

  This wild Indian with hair and feathers hanging over his shoulders dared mock her. Wiping her eyes, she looked down at her boots. Her ankle throbbed in pain, her dress was in tatters, strands of hair clung to her cheeks and hung disheveled around her waist, and her face, stiff from sunburn, brought to mind her lobstered appearance.

  His continued laughter regained her attention. His smile was stunningly attractive and his eyes were bright beneath the dark paint. She shook off the warm feelings that stirred in her and forced her mind upon the fact that he found her fear of snakes so hilarious. Maybe she was being silly? She certainly looked silly. His laughter was contagious. A smile tugged at her lips. She lay back against the embankment and giggled.

  “Anna.” He leaned over her, his face split with a grin. “That is your name, right?”