Muttering an oath, he grasped hold of the saddle horn with both hands and pulled himself onto the stallion's back. Sitting there, trying to gather what strength he had left, he assessed the damage done by the bear. His shirt and pants were in shreds. There were several long gouges down his arms, a bloody furrow down the length of his right leg. His whole body seemed covered with dried blood and dirt save for the gash in his side, which continued to ooze bright red blood.
Feeling light-headed, he wrapped his right hand in the stallion's mane, wound the reins around the saddle horn. Then, laying his head against Smoke's neck, he murmured, "Home, boy. Take me home . . . to Hannah."
35
Something was wrong. I glanced around the yard, a clothespin in one hand, one of Blackie's cotton shirts in the other. Everything seemed peaceful and quiet. Victoria was nursing the baby in the shade of a tree some distance away; Hawk and the twins were wrestling. The sound of the twins' laughter filled the air as they tried to pin their father to the ground. Blackie had gone to a veterinary convention with Dr. Cole and would be gone for several weeks. Hawk and Vickie had come to keep me company for the day.
But something was wrong. The sun seemed to have lost its warmth and I felt a cold chill steal over me. Shivering, I dropped Blackie's shirt back into the wicker basket at my feet, let the clothespin fall, unnoticed, to the ground.
Something had happened to Shadow. I knew it as surely as I knew the sun would set in the west.
"Hawk!" I called his name, the panic seeping into my voice.
He came on the run, his eyes darting about to find the cause of my alarm. Vickie followed him, the baby clutched to her breast.
"What is it, nahkoa?" Hawk asked. "What is wrong?"
"Something's happened to your father," I said, the certainty of it growing stronger with every passing moment.
Hawk frowned at me. "What are you saying?"
"Shadow," I said, near tears. "Something has happened to Shadow. I know it."
Hawk and Victoria exchanged worried glances.
"Vickie, stay with my mother until I get back," Hawk said. "I think I know where he would go."
Vickie didn't waste time arguing, but hurried into the house as Hawk ran to the barn to saddle a horse. I was too numb to be of much help. I could only pace the floor, my heart sending urgent prayers to God and Maheo while Vickie packed food and water for Hawk's journey.
Fifteen minutes later, Hawk rode away from the house mounted on Heyoka. I saw him stop once to check the ground for sign and then he was gone from sight.
"Did you pack bandages?" I asked Vickie.
"Yes."
"Disinfectant?"
"Yes."
"Oh, God," I murmured, "please let him be alive."
Tears glistened in Victoria's eyes. "You don't think he's dead?"
"I don't know. I only know something is wrong, terribly wrong. Oh, I wish I had gone with Hawk!"
The hours passed slowly. I couldn't concentrate on anything. I tried to wash the dishes, but the pots and silverware fell from my hands to the floor, and Vickie finished the job for me. I picked up one of Shadow's shirts to mend the cuff, then sat with it clutched in my hands, staring out the window.
Vickie put the children to bed, then came and sat beside me. I went to the window time and time again, my eyes scanning the horizon for some sign of the man I loved. I prayed constantly, pleading for Shadow's safety, hoping my feelings were wrong, that Shadow was unhurt. Yet even as I prayed, I knew he had been wounded, perhaps fatally, and I knew just as certainly that I would not want to go on living without him.
Once, Victoria reached out to squeeze my hand. I was glad of her presence, grateful that she didn't try to fill the silence with meaningless chatter, or try to persuade me that nothing was wrong.
Just after dark there was a knock at the door. It was Justin Edwards, the telegrapher from town. One look at his face told me it was bad news.
My hands were shaking as I took the telegram.
"Sorry," he muttered, and turned away.
"What is it?" Vickie asked, coming to stand beside me.
"Mary's in Steel's Crossing. Cloud Walker is in jail awaiting trial. She wants us to meet her there." I looked at Vickie helplessly. "I can't go, not now."
"She'll understand," Vickie said. "Here, sit down and write a reply. I'll take it into town."
Hawk rode hard all that night, heading northeast across the river toward the land that had once been home to the Sioux and Cheyenne. Heyoka seemed to sense the urgency of its rider, and the miles slipped away as the young stallion fairly flew over the ground.
Hawk's thoughts were centered on his father, and as he rode, he sent prayers to Maheo begging for his father's life. And as he prayed, he wondered what tragedy his mother had envisioned that had so filled her heart with despair.
As dawn brightened the sky, Hawk tried to imagine what life would be like without his father. Always Shadow had been there, a bulwark of strength and courage, doing what had to be done no matter what the cost to himself. Hawk recalled how badly he had wanted to participate in the ritual of the Sun Dance, and how his father had taken the proper steps when the time came so that Hawk might fulfill his dream.
He reined Heyoka to a halt, his narrowed eyes searching the horizon for some sign of movement. The stallion stood with its head down, its sides heaving and lathered with sweat. Hawk smiled ruefully as he patted the animal's neck. If his father were still alive, he would be very angry when he learned of the punishing ride Hawk had forced upon the stud.
Twenty minutes later, Hawk was on the move again.
It was just after midday when he saw Smoke walking toward him. Hawk felt his heart quicken with fear when he saw his father slumped, unmoving, over the horse's neck.
Urging the weary Heyoka into a lope, Hawk quickly closed the distance between himself and his father. Dismounting, he lifted Shadow from the stud's back and placed him gently on the ground. Thank God, he was alive.
"Neyho?"
Shadow's eyes flickered open at the sound of Hawk's voice. "Hawk?"
"Yes, neyho."
"Take me home."
"Yes, neyho."
"Hurry."
Hawk nodded, unable to speak. There was a note of urgency in his father's voice, as though he realized he might not have much time left.
Uncorking his canteen, Hawk gave his father a drink of cool water. Then, working quickly, he tended his father's wounds as best he could.
"Grizzly," Shadow rasped.
Hawk nodded. Shadow's face and body were badly chewed up. Dead skin hung in shreds from his arms, legs, and torso.
"Hurry," Shadow said, his voice weak. With a sigh, he closed his eyes.
Hawk made no effort to stay his tears as he saw that his father was unconscious. Working quickly, he fashioned a travois from two sturdy saplings and Smoke's saddle blanket. He positioned the travois behind the patiently standing Smoke and attached it with a length of rope to the horse. Then he lifted his father and placed him gently on the blanket, lashing his unconscious form securely in place for the ride. Taking up Smoke's reins, Hawk swung onto Heyoka's back and started for home, pushing the horses as fast as he dared across the rough terrain.
Shadow did not regain consciousness on the long journey home.
My heart was in my throat when I saw Hawk ride up leading Smoke with Shadow on a travois behind.
"He is alive," Hawk assured me quickly. "He was attacked by a grizzly." Hawk laid his hand on my shoulder, his eyes dark with worry. "He is badly hurt,'' he said as he carried Shadow into the house and placed him on Mary's bed.
"Get Dr. Henderson," I said hoarsely. "Go quickly."
I gazed at Shadow, tears streaming down my cheeks. Victoria, sensing my need to be alone, took the twins into the parlor where they could play without disturbing me.
After what seemed like an eternity, Hawk and the doctor arrived. Shadow's eyes opened as the doctor began removing the bandages from his torso. He saw me and
smiled weakly, and then he passed out again.
My throat ached with unshed tears as I removed Shadow's torn shirt and pants. My stomach churned at the sight of his mutilated flesh, even as I thanked God that he was still alive.
The next two hours were very long. I bathed Shadow's wounds and the doctor applied disinfectant.
Then, fighting back nausea, I watched as the doctor reopened the awful wound in Shadow's side, swabbed it out with alcohol and disinfectant, then sewed the ragged edges together. Shadow groaned softly as the needle darted in and out of his flesh, and I was reminded of another time long ago when I had watched my mother stitch Shadow's leg.
When the doctor finished with the gash in Shadow's side, he began to painstakingly remove the dirt from the numerous cuts and abrasions Shadow had received. I felt my stomach heave as the doctor cut away the dead flesh from Shadow's arms, legs, back, and chest.
Dr. Henderson looked at me, one eyebrow arching upward. "Are you all right, Mrs. Kincaid?" he asked in a worried tone. "You're not going to faint on me, are you?"
"No," I said. But I wasn't so sure.
When at last the doctor had done all he could, he handed me a dark brown bottle of ointment and several packets of medicinal powders.
"Apply that salve to his wounds when you change the bandages, and give him one dose of the powders every four hours," the doctor instructed. "He's lost a good deal of blood, so give him as much liquid as he'll hold." Dr. Henderson gave me a sympathetic smile. "We should know by tomorrow night. Try to get some rest."
Taking up his hat and black satchel, the doctor nodded to Hawk and Vickie, patted my shoulder, and left the house.
"I'll go and put on a fresh pot of tea," Victoria said.
She paused in the doorway. "Try not to worry, Hannah. I'm sure he'll be all right."
I sat by Shadow's side all that night, my eyes never leaving his beloved face. His cheeks were cut and scratched, his lower lip had been torn, his eyes were swollen, yet he had never looked more beautiful. He was alive and that was all that mattered. I prayed to God that he would stay that way.
And yet I was afraid, so afraid. He had lost so much blood. He looked pale and haggard. The bandages on his arms and legs and torso covered nearly every inch of his flesh. Occasionally a low groan of pain escaped his lips, and the sound was like a knife in my heart.
Shortly after midnight he began to toss restlessly. Sweat poured from his body, soaking the bedclothes. He mumbled in his sleep, speaking incoherently in Cheyenne and English. I wiped his face and body with a cool cloth and gave him several swallows of cool water, but he continued to thrash about. Once I heard him mention Calf Running's name, and then he cried out in a loud voice, "The Army has her, and I must get her back!"
He was lost in the past, I thought, and I clearly remembered the time when I had been a prisoner of the Army. It had been after the battle at the Little Big Horn. Shadow and seventy renegade warriors had refused to surrender, and the Army had been pursuing us relentlessly. Shadow's men and the soldiers had been engaged in a fierce battle when I was captured. I had been pregnant with our first child at the time, but the man who had captured me had not been repulsed by my swollen belly. He had been trying to rape me when Shadow made his way into the tent where I was being held prisoner. He had dragged Stockton away from me. Yes, I remembered that night as though it had happened only yesterday. It was one of the few times I had seen Shadow's savage side. Stockton's face had gone fish-belly white when he saw the hatred glittering in Shadow's cold black eyes. The white man had opened his mouth to scream when he saw the knife in Shadow's hand, but all that had emerged was a hoarse cry of fear. And then Shadow hurled himself at Stockton, hacking and stabbing with terrible fury until what had once been a man was no more than a grotesque pile of butchered meat. Shadow's hands had looked as though they had been dipped in red dye when he pulled the knife from Stockton's body for the last time. His breath had come in short, hard gasps, as if he had been running a great distance. Feeling my shocked gaze, Shadow had turned to face me, and the face of the enraged killer had been magically transformed into the face of the man I loved . . .
Shadow, my defender and protector. He had killed three men who had dared to touch me. First Stockton, then an Arapahoe warrior who had sought to take advantage of me when we were alone in one of the war camps, and then Joshua Berdeen.
"Oh, Shadow," I wailed softly, and burying my face in my hands, I began to cry.
I had been weeping for a long time when I felt a hand moving in my hair. Sniffing back my tears, I lifted my head to find Shadow watching me.
"Hannah." His voice was weak and tinged with pain. "Do not weep for me," he chided with a gentle half-smile. "Long life and happiness. That was what the hawks promised. Remember?"
I nodded. "I remember."
Shadow's hand dropped to my shoulder, and I felt him tremble convulsively as the movement sent a fresh wave of pain through him.
"Lie still. Does it hurt terribly?"
He nodded, his hand squeezing my shoulder. Abruptly his eyelids fluttered down and his hand fell away from my shoulder.
"Shadow!" I screamed his name, fearing that he had died. Pressing my ear against his chest, I could hear the faint beat of his heart and I began to cry again.
"Don't die," I sobbed. "Please don't die. I'll leave Bear Valley if you want. We'll live anywhere you say, only please don't die."
Hawk heard my sobs and came to sit beside me, talking quietly of memories we had shared. It was comforting, having him there beside me, though I did not really hear what he said. I could think of nothing but Shadow, and how empty my life would be without him.
The next hours were awful. Shadow tossed and turned fretfully, his body wracked by chills and fever. I gave him the medicine the doctor had prescribed, willing my husband to get better, praying as I had never prayed before.
Shadow's condition was unchanged in the morning. I gave him another dose of the medicinal powders, applied the salve to his wounds. He would have several scars on his arms and legs if he lived, I thought, and choked back my tears.
News of Shadow's accident and Cloud Walker's arrest spread quickly through the valley. All that day our neighbors came to call, expressing their concern, offering help if we needed it, leaving casseroles and covered dishes for our family.
I refused to leave Shadow's side. I could not eat or sleep, could only sit there, feeling numb inside. I could not bear to see him in pain, to know he was hurting and there was nothing I could do about it. He had always been so strong, so indomitable, it didn't seem possible that he could be so near death. He had cheated it so many times in the past.
His fever grew worse as the day wore on, and he became delirious. Lying there, he refought old battles and relived the agony and the ecstasy of the Sun Dance. I saw him weep for the death of his father, heard his cry of pain when our first son was stillborn, heard his anguished wail when he thought I had been killed back on the reservation.
I wept for Shadow's pain. Taking his hand in mine, I began to talk to him, telling him of my love, telling him how desperately I needed him, begging him not to leave me alone.
Dr. Henderson came late in the afternoon. "Sorry I couldn't get here sooner," he said apologetically. "Mrs. Killmore went into labor this morning. It was a difficult birth. Twins. One of them didn't make it."
I was sorry for Mrs. Killmore's loss, but more concerned over the fate of my own husband. I hovered near the doctor as he removed the bandage from Shadow's side. The wound was red and ugly. I watched in horror as the doctor withdrew a wicked-looking instrument from his bag. He poured alcohol over the wound, sterilized the scalpel, and then lanced the wound.
Bile rose in my throat as blood and thick yellow pus oozed from Shadow's side. I gazed at the doctor with alarm. Shadow had already lost so much blood. How could he afford to lose more?
Dr. Henderson kept draining the abscess until only bright red blood flowed from the wound. With deft but gentle hands he ban
daged Shadow's side, took his temperature, checked his pulse and heartbeat.
"Doctor" I began.
"It's up to him now," the doctor said, nodding at Shadow's inert form. "I've done all I can."
I don't remember showing the doctor to the door. I couldn't seem to think or feel anything.
Hawk and Vickie went home to get some rest and look after their place. They came by that night, their faces grave with concern. I hardly knew they were there. They spoke to me and I answered, but I was hardly aware of what was said. I could think of only Shadow.
Hawk brought me a cup of black coffee laced with brandy, and I drank it without question.
Vickie came to sit beside me for a while, her eyes red and swollen. We sat together holding hands. Once we knelt by Shadow's bedside to pray. At midnight Vickie urged me to go to bed.
"You need to rest," she said. "There's nothing you can do."
But I refused to leave my husband's side.
The long dark hours of the night passed slowly. I sat beside Shadow, and the quiet surrounded me, seeming ominous and loud. Was it my imagination, or was death lurking just outside the door?
Half-asleep, I remembered the first time I had seen Shadow. He had been a boy of twelve at the time, handsome and arrogant. We had become friends and he had taught me to hunt and fish and skin a deer. They were not pursuits I had cared for, but Shadow thought that girl things were foolish and a waste of time, and he had refused to do anything he considered silly or undignified, which meant just about everything I liked to do.
I recalled the day of my sixteenth birthday. I had not seen Shadow for a long time. We had met by the river and he had been even more handsome than I remembered. He had worn only moccasins and the briefest of deerskin clouts, and I had not been able to take my eyes away from him. His legs had been long and well-muscled from years of riding bareback; his belly had been hard and flat, as it was now, ridged with muscle. His shoulders had been broad. Two livid scars had marred his chest, proof that he had participated in the Sun Dance. A third scar had zigzagged down his right shoulder. Like a bird hypotized by a snake, I could not tear my eyes from him. I could only stare, awed by his proud carriage, completely mesmerized by his savage yet utterly fascinating appearance. We had not said much that day, nor had we spent a great deal of time together, yet I had known that our lives would be intertwined from that day forward.
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