I remembered riding the war trail at Shadow's side, remembered my horror at killing a man. The dead trooper's face had haunted my dreams for weeks. Shadow, always sensitive to my moods, had done his best to comfort me. Nights, when we were alone, he talked to me of his youth, telling me amusing tales of his people in an effort to cheer me. But it had been his touch, the strength of his arms and his love, that had brought solace to my troubled soul. Only in his embrace had I felt secure. Sometimes it had seemed as though the whole world had gone mad, and only Shadow and the love we shared had remained unchanged.
Memories. My whole life was filled with memories of Shadow.
At dawn I forced myself to stand up and move around. My body was stiff and sore from sitting for so long, and I suddenly felt old, so old. Going to the window, I gazed out into the distance. The sky was growing light, coming alive with glowing shades of red and gold and lavender as the sun gave birth to another new day. It was a magnificent sunrise, and as the colors slowly began to fade, I saw two red-tailed hawks soar across the clear blue sky, wheeling and diving in perfect unison until they disappeared into the sun.
"Hannah."
His voice reached out to me, more welcome than life itself. Turning, not daring to hope, I saw Shadow watching me. He looked pale and weak, but his eyes were clear, and I knew the worst was over.
Murmuring a fervent prayer of thanksgiving, I ran to his side and placed my hand over his brow. It was cool. The fever had broken at last.
Shadow cocked his head to one side. "You look awful," he said candidly.
"You look wonderful," I exclaimed jubilantly. "Are you hungry?"
"Starved."
It was the best news I had ever heard. I gave him a big kiss, then went into the kitchen and prepared a bowl of broth for Shadow and a thick sandwich for myself. Now that Shadow was going to be all right, I was famished.
Shadow had a second bowl of broth and a cup of coffee, and I ate another sandwich.
"Hannah." Shadow laid the bowl aside and took my hand in his. "You look like you haven't slept in days."
"I haven't," I admitted sheepishly. "I was too worried about you."
"Come, lie down beside me."
"I'm all right."
"Hannah." His voice was stern. "If you get sick, who will take care of me?"
"That's blackmail," I muttered, but I obediently crawled into bed beside him, my head nestled against his shoulder, my arm going around his waist. I was careful not to touch his wounded side. With a sigh of contentment, I closed my eyes.
I slept all that day and into the next.
Shadow's recovery was slow but steady. He had been badly hurt and had lost a great deal of blood, but he was strong and possessed a fighting spirit, and that stood him in good stead now. He slept much of the time during the first week. I rarely left his side. I had almost lost him, and I could not bear to be away from him for more than a few minutes at a time.
Shadow, too, was aware of how close to death he had been. When he was awake, his dark eyes lingered on my face. In sleep, he held my hand in his, refusing to let go.
''It was a near thing," Shadow mused one evening after dinner.
"Too near."
Shadow grinned at me. "It was a very big bear."
"Were you afraid?"
"Not of dying. Only that I might not see you again." Shadow studied my face, his expression thoughtful. "Would you really leave Bear Valley if I asked you to?"
"Why do you ask?"
"One night I felt myself slipping away, and while I hovered between this world and the next, I had a vision. I saw my mother and my father waiting for me. They were dressed in buckskins whiter than any I have ever seen. I could see trees and flowers and many miles of green grass. And buffalo. Hundreds and hundreds of buffalo, grazing in a meadow."
"It was just a dream," I said, but I felt a strange shiver inside as Shadow shook his head.
"It was not a dream. My mother smiled at me, her arms outstretched, and I knew that if I went to her, all the pain I was feeling would go away."
Shadow stared at me, his eyes filled with wonder. "But then I heard you calling my name, begging me not to go. I looked back, and I could see you kneeling beside my bed. You were crying, and I could hear you begging me not to die. You said you would leave Bear Valley and live anywhere I wanted."
My mouth went dry as Shadow finished speaking. Perhaps he had gone to that place between life and death. The thought filled me with a nameless fear.
"I told my mother that you were weeping for me," Shadow went on, "and she said I must go back, that my unborn son would need a father when he was born."
I gasped, my hand going to my stomach. I had suspected for some time that I might be pregnant, but I had shrugged it off. Then, when Shadow had been hurt, I had forgotten all about it.
"Are you pregnant, Hannah?"
"I think so."
Shadow smiled from ear to ear. "Another son!" he exclaimed, and then he grew serious once more. "Would you leave Bear Valley for me, Hannah?"
"If you wish."
Shadow grinned wryly. "I do not want to leave. I do not know what I went looking for out there on the plains. Perhaps I am growing old and feeble-minded. Out there, alone, I realized that everything I had ever desired was waiting for me here. I was about to start for home when mato attacked me." Shadow shook his head ruefully. "I knew I was looking death in the face and that if I panicked I would never see you again."
Shadow laughed softly. "It was hard not to run, but I knew that running was the wrong thing to do, so I played dead instead."
I let out a long sigh, glad the nightmare was over.
Shadow told his story many times in the days ahead as our friends and neighbors came to visit and to wish him well. Fred Brown, Porter Sprague, and Clancy Turner came to call one afternoon, and they exchanged stories, real and doubtful, about grizzlies and the men they had attacked. The grizzly was indeed a fearsome beast, with no enemy but man. A charging grizzly was a terrible sight to behold. Ears flat, hair flat, they could cover fifty yards in three seconds, a remarkable speed for such a large animal. Grizzly bears possessed a keen sense of smell, feared nothing, and considered almost everything to be food. Weighing only sixteen ounces at birth, a full-grown bear could easily weigh over a thousand pounds. Little wonder that both animals and man stayed out of their way.
I listened in horror as Fred Brown related the story of mountain man Hugh Glass. It was said that Hugh Glass had run afoul of an enraged grizzly while traveling with a small party of trappers. He managed to kill the bear in the struggle, but when it was over, Hugh was more dead than alive. The leader of the expedition left two men to stay with the wounded man until he recovered or died, but the two men left with Glass were certain he would never recover from the awful wounds he had received, and they abandoned him, taking his rifle and ammunition and supplies. But Hugh Glass had survived. Alone in the wilderness, he lived on wild berries and roots. Unable to walk, he crawled toward Fort Kiowa, over a hundred miles away, determined to seek vengeance on the men who had left him for dead. Eventually he was found by a band of Indians, who tended his wounds until he recovered. The most amazing part of the story was that, when Glass found the two men who had deserted him, he forgave them. Few men were lucky enough to survive such a violent encounter with a grizzly. How thankful I was that Shadow had been one of the lucky ones.
With Shadow's life out of danger, my thoughts turned to Mary and Cloud Walker. Shadow urged me to go to Steel's Crossing to keep Mary company and get acquainted with our newest grandchild. It was tempting, but I could not leave Shadow. He was still bedridden and unable to care for himself, though he wouldn't admit it. Hawk thought about going to stay with Mary, but he had his hands full here just looking after his place and ours.
I wrote Mary daily, hoping she would understand why we couldn't be there, hoping she had the inner strength to meet whatever the future held.
36
Mary wept tears of joy as she r
ead her mother's letter. Thank God, her father was out of danger and on the mend, though he was still weak and bedridden. He was a terrible patient, her mother said, and complained about everything except the pain as his wounds healed.
Laying the letter aside, Mary gazed out the window of her room at Mrs. Spencer's boardinghouse. So much had happened in such a short time. Cloud Walker had been questioned repeatedly about Frank's disappearance, but he had refused to say anything. With no evidence of foul play and no corpse, it had looked as though he might be released from jail, and then Harvey Castrell had been arrested for being drunk and disorderly in Lincoln County. The sheriff who arrested Castrell recognized him from an old "wanted" poster, and Castrell had been extradited to Steel's Crossing to stand trial for the murder of a local shopkeeper five years before.
Mattie and Leland Smythe had arrived at Steel's Crossing about the same time. The detective they had hired had gotten wind of Castrell's arrest and notified them that Castrell was in jail awaiting trial. Mattie and Leland had rushed to town to see if Castrell knew of Frank's whereabouts.
Mary had been visiting Cloud Walker when Mattie and Leland entered the cellblock. She could still recall the wolfish grin on Castrell's face as he told Leland and Mattie that Cloud Walker had taken Frank and himself into the wilds and killed Frank in cold blood, and that he himself had barely escaped with his life. He even told them where it had happened. He told the same story to the prosecuting attorney.
Mattie had burst into tears as she whirled on Mary. "This is all your fault!" she cried, her voice thick with loathing. "If you hadn't lusted after that savage, my Frank would still be alive."
Mattie was on the verge of hysteria when Leland put his arm around his wife's shoulders and led her out of the cellblock.
Mary spent every minute possible with Cloud Walker. Daily there were new lines of bitterness around his eyes and mouth. She sensed the tension mounting within him, lurking in the shadows of his calm exterior like a lion ready to strike. They spoke of Adam, of Shadow's brush with death, of everything but the coming trial.
On a sunny day in early May, Harvey Castrell was tried for murder and found guilty. He was sentenced to hang, but the sentence was to be delayed until he had testified at Cloud Walker's trial, which was set for the following week.
The day after Castrell's trial, the marshal received a wire saying that Frank Smythe's body had been found. A statement from a local doctor accompanied the wire, stating that Frank Smythe had been shot twice, once in the shoulder and once in the chest, and that he had been scalped.
"Scalped him, too, eh?" Castrell remarked. He was sitting on his cot with his back to the wall while he watched Cloud Walker pace his cell. "That's going to look bad in court."
Castrell grinned maliciously. "Looks like I'll have the last laugh after all," he mused. "After all, it's your word against mine, and I have nothing to lose by lying."
"I should have killed you when I had the chance," Cloud Walker rasped.
"Too true, too true," Castrell agreed. He laughed softly. "Going to the gallows won't be so bad knowing that you'll be right behind me."
Cloud Walker's face remained impassive, but inwardly he shuddered. Castrell was right. No jury was going to believe that he had killed Smythe in self-defense.
Cloud Walker's trial was set for May 15. Mary tried to put on a brave face when she saw Cloud Walker the night before the trial. She kept her voice light as she talked about Adam, and how good it would be to get back to Bear Valley after the trial, and how anxious she was to have her parents see the baby. Cloud Walker's eyes never left her face. Each minute he spent with her was precious now, and he memorized each detail of her face and figure, wanting to carry her image with him into the next life.
Gradually Mary ran out of things to say and they stood together as close as they could with the iron bars between them.
"Well, hell," Castrell muttered. "Aren't you going to kiss her? Might be your last chance."
Cloud Walker swore under his breath. Damn the man! Wasn't it enough that his lies were going to kill any hope they had for a future? Did he have to spoil what little time he and Mary had left?
Mary felt the anger churning within her husband and she placed her hand on his cheek. "Please," she whispered. "Just ignore him."
Cloud Walker nodded. Reaching through the bars, he circled Mary's waist with one arm as he bent to place a kiss on her lips. Mary pressed closer to him, the bars digging into her flesh as she returned his kiss.
For one brief moment she forgot everything but the touch of Cloud Walker's lips on hers. And then the door to the cellblock swung open and the marshal informed her that visiting hours were over.
Reluctantly she followed the marshal out of the cellblock.
Cloud Walker didn't sleep that night. He paced the narrow cell for hours, or stood at the tiny iron-barred window and stared out at the night. With the coming of dawn, he raised his arms above his head, his eyes lifted toward heaven, as he murmured a prayer for help.
Everyone in Steel's Crossing turned out for the trial, eager to hear the whole sordid story of Mary's love affair with an Indian that had led to murder.
Cloud Walker's face was an impassive mask when he entered the courtroom. He was dressed in buckskins. His hair, long and black, fell past his shoulders. The women in the crowd murmured to one another. He was terribly handsome. No wonder Mary Smythe had been tempted into his arms. He was tall and dark, virile, and oh, so masculine.
The men nodded as Cloud Walker took his seat. One look at that face, those unfathomable black eyes, and you knew the man was capable of killing.
There were several witnesses. Harvey Castrell's voice rang with sincerity as he told his story. Yes, he had been there the day Cloud Walker abducted Mary. Yes, Cloud Walker had taken Frank Smythe and himself into a deserted part of the country and shot Frank in cold blood. Castrell said he had been struck by Mary and then had played possum and seen the whole thing. He had been lucky to escape with his life.
The man at the train depot testified that he had seen Frank Smythe, Harvey Castrell, Cloud Walker, and Mary leave the train together.
The porter testified that he had seen Cloud Walker and Mary board the train several days later. No, he had not seen Mr. Smythe or Mr. Castrell.
A hush fell over the courtroom when Mary took the stand. Her eyes never left Cloud Walker's face as she told her story. Yes, she had married Frank Smythe, but they had been unhappy together and she had returned to Bear Valley. She had met Cloud Walker there and fallen in love with him. She told how Frank had blackmailed her into going back to Chicago, that he had refused to give her a divorce even when she told him she was pregnant with Cloud Walker's child. She told how Cloud Walker had come after her, how Frank had followed them and forced them to leave the train.
The spectators gasped when she related that Frank had threatened to castrate Cloud Walker and then kill him. She had tried to interfere. She had hit Castrell with a branch and grabbed his gun, intending to use it to make Frank go away, but Frank had a gun, too. She had shot Frank in the arm and he had dropped his weapon.
Mary's voice dropped to a whisper and her eyes filled with tears as she told how Frank's gun had gone off when it hit the ground, killing Katherine. That was all she remembered.
And then Cloud Walker took the stand. Why had he run away if he had nothing to hide? Why hadn't he gone to the law and confessed? Why had he scalped Frank Smythe?
He answered the questions in a voice that was hard and flat. He had run away because he was an Indian who had killed a white man, a very rich and powerful white man. He had not confessed because he knew that no one would believe he had killed Smythe in self-defense. And he had scalped Frank Smythe because it pleased him to do so.
In the same flat voice, he told his version of what had happened. It was the same as what Mary had said.
''Frank reached for his gun at the same time I reached for the one Mary had dropped," Cloud Walker said in conclusion. "My ai
m was better."
Mary looked at the faces of the jury as Cloud Walker finished his story. They didn't believe him. She knew it without doubt.
The marshal took Cloud Walker back to jail, leaving Castrell in the custody of one of his deputies as it didn't seem wise to let the two convicted men get close to each other.
Rising, Mary went to stand before Harvey Castrell.
"Why are you doing this?" she asked. "Why?"
"I don't know what the hell you're talking about," Castrell growled.
"Please tell the truth. Please don't let them hang my husband. You know he's innocent. You're the only one who can help us."
"I ain't in the helpin' business," Castrell retorted.
Tears streamed down Mary's cheeks. "I'll get down on my knees and beg if that's what you want," she cried. "Please, Mr. Castrell. I love him. Haven't you ever been in love?"
Harvey Castrell looked away. Of course he'd been in love. Once, a beautiful young woman had begged him to give up his outlaw life and settle down, but he had refused, and when he finally changed his mind it was too late. She had died, sad and alone.
"Please," Mary said again. "We have a son who needs a father."
Castrell looked deep into her eyes. "Deputy," he called to the man standing behind him. "Get the sheriff. I've got something I need to say."
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