Wind Rider

by Connie Mason

  Gilmore was the product of the aristocratic South, where taking a mistress was perfectly acceptable behavior. Rescuing Hannah had appealed to his sense of honor and had earned him a certain amount of glory, but offering marriage was taking his infatuation a step too far.

  Gilmore lifted Hannah onto the wagon seat and climbed up beside her. Grasping the reins with one hand, he signaled the patrol forward. As they left Fort Laramie behind, Hannah knew a terrible fear. The man she loved was in the stockade and would likely be sent to prison. If Trent proved that Wind Rider had participated in Indian raids, he might even hang. If she hadn’t insisted that he leave the Sioux, or refused to return to Red Cloud’s camp with him, he wouldn’t be in this mess. It was all her fault, and now she might never see Wind Rider again. Would he ever forgive her?

  Wind Rider paced the cell like a caged animal. The chains on his arms and legs reminded him of his lowly position among white eyes. He pounded on the door and earned nothing for his trouble but a harsh warning from the sergeant of the guard. Over a week had passed since he’d been locked behind bars, and he’d cursed his impetuous nature many times since that day. If he’d bided his time and waited, he could have used his cunning to spirit Hannah away from the blue coats. But the moment he had witnessed the lieutenant’s proprietary manner toward Hannah, caution had deserted him.

  * * *

  After being denied his freedom for two weeks Wind Rider felt himself teetering on the brink of insanity. Accustomed to open spaces, to going where he willed, he found confinement the worst kind of torture imaginable. He was seriously thinking of wrapping his chains around the guard’s neck when he brought the next meal and squeezing the life from him, regardless of the fact that it would mean his death. Desperate as he was, he would welcome death; living like an animal did not appeal to him.

  Zach Mercer drove the freight wagon into Fort Laramie, cursing his incredibly bad luck. Three of his most experienced drivers were incapacitated, leaving him shorthanded and forcing him at the last minute to drive one of his Denver-based company’s freight wagons to Fort Laramie to fulfill the contract he had negotiated with the army. It was a lucrative deal; otherwise he would have delayed the shipment until a driver was available. Leaving Abby and their new son was one of the most difficult things he’d ever done.

  Even though he had left Abby well protected by a small army of hired men, most of them proficient with guns, he worried about them in these unsettled times. Just thinking about Abby and their small son brought a smile to his lips. Little Trey was a perfect child, a delight, and there would never be another woman for him but Abby. He loved her to distraction despite their unconventional meeting. When they had first met she was known as Tears Like Rain. She had claimed him for her slave and by so doing had saved his life.

  Zach drove the lead wagon of the four-wagon convoy to the supply depot, where it and the others would be unloaded. First thing in the morning, he and the other drivers would drive the empty wagons back to Denver.

  “Mr. Mercer, your wagons are right on time. What brings you to Fort Laramie?” the officer in charge of the supply depot asked. It was a rare occasion that brought the owner of Mercer Freighting to Fort Laramie.

  “Necessity, Lieutenant Coppersmith, pure necessity. Two of my drivers are laid up because of accidents, and one was involved in a gunfight. All three are recuperating, but I didn’t have time to hire and train another driver. What’s new in this part of the country, Lieutenant?”

  “Same as in your part of the country, I reckon. Indians are still on the warpath. General Conner took three columns into Powder River country, but word is, they’ve encountered few Indians. A short time ago he sent word that he had wiped out a Cheyenne camp and an Arapaho camp. The deputy commander is in charge of the fort during his absence.”

  Zach’s attention sharpened. ”A Cheyenne camp, you say? Do you happen to know the name of the tribe’s chief?”

  The lieutenant scratched his head, trying to recall the rumors he’d heard. “Yeah, now that you mention it, I do recall hearing the chief’s name. Rumor has it that Chief White Feather was killed in the attack.”

  Zach went still. White Feather. Abby would be devastated. He had no idea how to tell her that her foster father had been slain by the army during an attack on his camp. “What about the women and children?”

  “Most of them ran away. Conner let them go. He didn’t want it referred to as another Sand Creek.”

  Zach was thankful that Summer Moon was still alive. He wondered about the child he knew she had been expecting. “I’ll report to the quartermaster,” Zach said, eager to receive payment for the shipment and be on his way. He feared Abby would hear the news from someone other than himself. Perhaps he’d leave tonight if the wagons were unloaded by then.

  Zach had received payment for the shipment and was on his way out the door when a chance remark stopped him in his tracks. Two enlisted men who had just entered the office were discussing a man being held in the stockade. The words Zach heard were “white Indian.”

  Zach whirled, smiling at the men in a friendly manner. “What did you say, Corporal? I just arrived at the fort and haven’t heard the latest news. Did you say the white Indian was being held in the stockade? Is he truly white? Or is he merely a half-breed?”

  “He’s white, all right,” the corporal smirked. “His skin is tan from the sun, but his eyes are a strange silver-gray. He hasn’t denied he’s white. Says his name is Ryder Larson, but Lieutenant Gilmore said he’s called Wind Rider.”

  Zach tried to suppress his shock. “What are the charges against him?”

  “Rape,” the corporal offered. “And Lieutenant Gilmore suspects him of raiding with the Sioux.”

  “Rape,” Zach repeated dully. That certainly didn’t sound like the Wind Rider he knew. For Abby’s sake, he had to find some way to help her beloved brother. “Who did he rape?”

  The corporal leered knowingly. ”A pretty little piece he captured. Turns out she was a runaway indentured servant. Lieutenant Gilmore rescued her and escorted her to Denver. Word is, the lieutenant has a hankering for her.”

  Pretending to lose interest in the subject, Zach excused himself and went on his way, all thought of leaving that night forgotten. His mind was in a turmoil as he walked slowly across the parade grounds.

  “Zach! Zach Mercer! What in tarnation are you doing at Fort Laramie?”

  Zach’s face lit up when he recognized Captain Frank Purdue, a friend of long-standing. They had served together in the Federal Army during the War Between the States. They were both from Boston, and their families were close friends. “Frank, what are you doing in the West? I thought you’d left the army after the war.”

  “I found I liked the life and reenlisted to serve on the Western frontier. I’ve been Deputy Post Commander at Fort Laramie for six months. What about you?”

  “I’ve left the army.” Zach revealed. “Mercer Freighting is now serving the West. I’m also married and have a son. We live near Denver.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Purdue said, pumping Zach’s hand. ”A son. Congratulations. I imagine those are your freight wagons that just arrived.”

  As they spoke of old times, an idea began to form in Zach’s mind. When Purdue asked Zach to join him in his office for a drink Zach accepted eagerly.

  Seated in a comfortable leather chair in Purdue’s office, Zach sipped his whiskey and planned his strategy. When Purdue asked about his wife’s family Zach was as truthful as he could be.

  “My God, that’s an incredible story,” Purdue said after Zach told him about Abby and her brother having been raised by the Cheyenne. “Thank God Abby saved your life. Whatever happened to her brother? You can’t help feeling sorry for him.”

  Zach had awaited just such an opening. “Wind Rider is being held in your stockade.”

  “What?” Incredulous, Purdue leaned forward. “You mean that white Indian in the stockade is your wife’s brother?”

  “I haven
’t seen him, but I have every reason to suspect that he is. And Wind Rider would never rape a woman. If you knew the Cheyenne at all, you’d know that they do not rape. Has the woman accused him? If so, I’d like to question her myself.”

  Purdue grew thoughtful. “As far as I know, formal charges have yet to be filed against Mr. Larson. He claims he and the woman were married in an Indian ceremony. Lieutenant Gilmore denies that any kind of ceremony took place. He is to investigate the claims and wire his findings to us.”

  “I’m inclined to believe Wind Rider,” Zach said. “I know the man. My wife dotes on him. During all those years with the Indians, he watched over and protected her. He’s not a savage, Frank.”

  Purdue rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Perhaps we should talk to the man. Lieutenant Gilmore might have been overzealous in his duty. I’ve heard rumors that Gilmore is quite taken with Miss McLin. That’s the woman’s name—Hannah McLin.”

  “I’d appreciate anything you could do, Frank,” Zach said gratefully. “If you saw fit to release him into my custody I’d see that he causes the army no more trouble. If he’s identified himself as Ryder Larson, I seriously doubt he intends to return to Powder River country and the Sioux.”

  Purdue strode to the door, opened it, and called out, “Corporal Finnigan, have the prisoner in the stockade brought here.”

  “You mean the white Indian, sir?”

  “That’s right, Corporal.”

  * * *

  With growing alarm, Wind Rider listened to the murmur of voices outside his door. It wasn’t mealtime yet; he wondered if they had decided to execute him without a trial. He knew little about military justice or white man’s laws, and he wouldn’t put anything past them. He thought briefly about trying to escape and taking his chances on getting killed. That might be preferable to being executed. When the door opened the sergeant of the guard stood aside, allowing another soldier to enter his cell. Wind Rider noted that the man was young and looked inexperienced, and his hopes soared. Maybe escape wasn’t impossible after all.

  “The captain wants to see you, Larson,” the corporal said. He stood well back from the dangerous-looking man. “I’m to take you to him.” He drew his weapon and pointed it at Wind Rider.

  Wind Rider held out his arms. “Remove the chains.”

  Corporal Finnigan shook his head. “I’m not crazy. Move, Larson; Captain Purdue doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

  Sending the man a black scowl, Wind Rider shuffled from the austere room, his stride limited by the length of the chains. When Finnigan prodded him cruelly he swung around and snarled, pleased when the corporal’s face whitened and he retreated in haste.

  It seemed to take forever to reach post headquarters, but Wind Rider was in no hurry to hear his death sentence. His one regret was leaving Hannah in the hands of men like Harley and Gilmore.

  Finnigan held open the door so Wind Rider could enter the captain’s office, then stationed himself just inside the door in case of trouble. His face impassive, Wind Rider directed his gaze at the man sitting behind the desk. He did not see Zach, seated off to one side.

  Zach leaped to his feet, angered to see the fiercely proud Wind Rider chained like an animal. “I say, Captain, was it necessary to place the man in chains?”

  Purdue shrugged. “It was Gilmore’s order. With the General gone, and the entire fort to run, I’ve had little time to devote to the prisoner.”

  Wind Rider’s eyes widened in shock. Zach Mercer was the last person he expected to see at Fort Laramie. What was Abby’s husband doing here? he wondered. Not that he wasn’t glad to see him. He hoped Tears Like Rain was with him; he longed to set eyes on her one last time before he walked the spirit path.

  “This man is my brother-in-law, Captain. The charges against him are totally false. Where is his accuser?”

  “I understand that Miss McLin has been returned to the man who purchased her indenture. And Lieutenant Gilmore has been temporarily attached to the Colorado militia in

  Denver. He is supposed to get a deposition from the woman and question some men who have seen the prisoner riding with Indian raiders/’

  “If the woman didn’t admit to being raped before she left the fort, I doubt she’ll do so any time in the future,” Zach said with such firm conviction, the captain took another look at Wind Rider.

  “I suspect it’s too embarrassing for the woman to talk about,” Purdue reasoned. “She must have admitted it to Lieutenant Gilmore or he wouldn’t have made those charges.”

  Zach took two long strides until he stood beside Wind Rider. He placed a hand on his shoulder. “That’s pretty flimsy evidence. I suggest you turn him loose. I’ll personally accept responsibility for his behavior.”

  Wind Rider started violently. At one time he had hated Zach Mercer, but now he couldn’t ask for a better friend. He turned to the captain and said, “Hannah McLin is my wife. I would never harm her.” That was almost true. Her lies had hurt him deeply, and he remembered how she had clung to the lieutenant after telling Wind Rider she’d go anywhere he chose so they could be together. She spoke with a forked tongue. When he saw her again, if he ever did, he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions.

  “Harumph.” The captain cleared his throat. “An Indian ceremony, if one actually took place, isn’t legal. In the eyes of the civilized world, Miss McLin is not your wife.”

  “Civilized men do not kill innocent women and children,” Wind Rider spat, his eyes blazing. “Are you forgetting Sand Creek?”

  “I’m not going to argue with you, Larson. Unfortunate atrocities have taken place on both sides. But having a man like Zach Mercer speaking on your behalf is good enough for me.”

  “Then you’ll let him go?” Zach pressed determinedly.

  Purdue rested his chin on his tented fingers, staring at Wind Rider, still undecided. “Where do you intend to go if I free you, Mr. Larson? If it’s back to Red Cloud’s village, I fear releasing you is out of the question.”

  Zach flashed Wind Rider a warning glance. “I will go to Denver with Zach,” Wind Rider said. “I wish to see my sister and new niece or nephew.”

  “Nephew,” Zach said, grinning proudly.

  “I suppose the militia can find you easily enough if you make trouble in Denver. But I’ll hold your brother-in-law responsible if you break the law.”

  Wind Rider flashed Zach a grateful look. “I will not break the law.”

  “And meanwhile, if Lieutenant Gilmore finds proof that you rode the warpath with your Indian friends, the army will come looking for you. Do you understand?”

  Wind Rider nodded, though he seriously doubted anyone could be found who had seen him riding with the Sioux.

  “Remove the chains,” Zach said crisply.

  Purdue called to the corporal standing just inside the door, ordering him to remove Wind Rider’s chains. He approached Wind Rider gingerly and quickly unlocked the fetters. They fell away, and Wind Rider kicked them aside, massaging the raw spots they had left on his wrists.

  “We’ll be leaving immediately, Frank,” Zach said. “I sincerely thank you for what you’ve done for my family. I won’t forget it.”

  “I hope neither of us will regret this,” Purdue mumbled as he stared into the silver depths of Wind Rider’s eyes. He hoped he hadn’t made a mistake. The man looked dangerous and untrustworthy. If he didn’t respect Zach Mercer, he’d never have let the white Indian go, though God knew it wasn’t Larson’s fault he and his sister had been captured and raised by Indians.

  “Let’s go home,” Zach said, slapping Wind Rider on the shoulder. “We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

  “There is something I must do first,” Wind Rider said once they stood outside headquarters. “I go to find my wife.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Hannah had to admit that life as an indentured servant was less difficult with Trent Gilmore making Mr. Harley abide by the rules. The drab brown dress she now wore was much like the one she had
worn when she’d run away all those months before, but at least this one was clean and not so ragged. And since Mr. Harley hadn’t suggested that she sell herself to his customers, she no longer tried to make herself as unattractive as possible.

  During her long absence Harley’s frail wife had died, and now the man was looking at Hannah with renewed interest. His assessing glances worried her, and she was grateful that Trent visited the inn several times a week to check on her.

  “Quit daydreaming, girl,” Harley grumbled as he caught Hannah staring off into space. “The reward I paid for your return has to be repaid, and you can’t do it by woolgathering. Get into the kitchen and help Conchita prepare tonight’s meal. If it wasn’t for that damn lieutenant, you’d be earning extra money on your back. Spreading your legs for my customers can’t be any worse than spreading them for Injuns.”

  Color flooded Hannah’s cheeks. She might regret many things, but becoming a woman in Wind Rider’s arms wasn’t one of them. It took very little effort to recall Wind Rider, and even less effort to remember the way he made her feel. He was an incredible mass of sinewed strength—a powerful, imposing creature, who had been taught to survive by Indians. Just thinking about him made the blood rush to her head and her stomach flutter. Until she met Wind Rider, she hadn’t known the meaning of pleasure. Unfortunately, she would never know that pleasure again.

  Hannah hurried into the kitchen to help Conchita, welcoming the opportunity to escape Mr. Harley’s notice. She hated the way he’d been ogling her lately. Something was festering in his mind, something she didn’t dare think about.

  Wind Rider entered the inn shortly after Hannah had disappeared into the kitchen. Since it was the time of day when most men were engaged in work, the common room was nearly deserted, but for a few unemployed miners and drifters passing through town. He took a table in a far corner, pulled his hat low over his eyes, and sat down to wait.