“What’s the message?” Major Adams asked, his nerves settled by the thought of a military challenge.
“There’s been a stagecoach robbery. The Arapahos found the tracks of the stagecoach and the bodies of two passengers, one of them Agent Gibson. Looks like he put up a fight, but he’s dead, and there’s no sign of the funds he was bringing in. That gold was due to the Cheyenne and Arapahos. If it’s missing, we’ve got a humdinger of a problem on our hands.”
Both Major Adams and Jack digested this news in silence. Jack rubbed the back of his neck. Why today, of all days? A bridegroom shouldn’t go to the altar with these worries on his mind.
“Does the chief know that the money was on that stage?” Major Adams asked.
“No, sir. They told me the name of the victim, and I surmised the rest.”
“Let’s keep news of the payment confidential,” the major said. “In the meantime . . .”
“I’ll take care of it, sir,” Jack said. “You don’t think twice about it.”
“It’s my job.”
“It’s your wedding day. Leave it to me.” Turning to Byrd, Jack said, “I’ll get together a small force to retrieve the bodies. I suppose it can wait until after the ceremony, though. No hurry now.”
“Actually, according to Chief Right Hand, there is an emergency. There was a survivor. A white woman from the coach.”
Jack’s throat tightened. “A survivor. Who has her?” His fingers clutched the handle of his saber. The Cheyenne had a dark history with captives. If they mistreated another, all the progress they’d made would be pointless. The army would show no mercy, and Jack dearly wanted there to be mercy.
“Don’t worry. She’s with the Arapaho, but they asked that we hurry.”
“Chief Right Hand said to hurry? She must be anxious to be rescued.”
“It’s not her that’s anxious. It’s the Indians.”
The flap on the tepee opened, exposing Hattie as she frantically dug against the side of the tepee. She spun around and huddled over the pile of fresh dirt, trying to hide her progress from the gray-haired woman wrapped in blankets, but the woman wasn’t fooled. Although Hattie didn’t understand her words, she knew that a guard would now be stationed at the back of the abode in addition to the one at the door. Her chances at escape were dwindling.
She should’ve fought longer, run faster, but the Indians had overpowered her and brought her back to their village. Now she was their captive, and the Lord only knew what they had planned for her.
The woman approached with a steaming bowl in her aged hands. Why were they doing this? Were they trying to poison her? The first time the woman had entered, she’d acted sympathetic, but after Hattie had refused the bowl of clotted milk, she didn’t hide her disdain any longer. This time she spoke sharply, motioning with the bowl and pointing at Hattie. Hattie’s chin quivered. The stew smelled so good. Seeing her resolve slip, the woman’s eyes softened. Her voice grew more pleading.
Hattie’s tears started again. How long could she hold out? Did anyone even know where she was?
The woman pushed the bowl of stew at her. She covered Hattie’s pale hands with her own dark, wrinkled ones. Hattie’s stomach growled. She’d heard stories of captives. Knowing her propensity for nightmares, her big brother used to tell her terrifying tales of torture and cannibalism that would keep her sleepless for weeks. She knew it was only a matter of time before the Indians tied her to a stake and began filleting her. They were probably fattening her up. She looked at the stew again, chunks of meat with some sort of grain floating in the thick juice. She wasn’t strong enough to resist. She was on the verge of giving in.
“No!” Hattie would not give in to weakness. She hurled the bowl of stew against the slanted wall of the tepee, splattering food everywhere. After surviving what she’d been through, she wasn’t going to succumb to hunger, but she’d only been there two days and already she was growing weak. Time was running out.
Pushing past the woman, Hattie made a dash for freedom. She burst through the flap and into the bright sunshine. The men squatting next to the tepee looked surprised. A dog tucked its tail and scurried away. Hattie fled, but no matter how she pumped her arms, she couldn’t run fast enough. Footsteps behind her. Shouts. Then an impact, and she hit the ground like a sack of grain. She tried to kick free, but the man had her legs pinned. She dropped her forehead to the ground as all hope drained away.
She was jerked to her feet as the Indian woman approached, then forced back to her prison. The old woman had grabbed a smooth wooden staff and shook it in Hattie’s face, scolding and lecturing as they made their way through the village to the tepee. Hattie’s stomach grumbled as the scent of the spilled stew greeted her inside. Angry voices continued around her as she huddled on a pile of buffalo hides and tried to block them all out.
If only she’d never taken this trip, but then Hattie remembered what awaited her at home, and she dropped her head onto the shaggy pile of blankets. Once her parents heard what had happened, they’d never let her out of their sight . . . if they ever saw her again.
Chapter
3
Jack had heard Major Adams and Miss Bell exchange vows in the chapel while Sergeant Major O’Hare prepared a unit to ride. Then, knowing that time was of the essence, he’d skipped the wedding cake and took out onto the prairie, following his silent guides to the Arapaho village.
It was hard to imagine that Agent Gibson was gone. Jack wouldn’t have considered him a friend, but his life was worth more than the Cheyenne and Arapaho gold he was carrying. Had someone known about the shipment? Was the stagecoach targeted? If the Bureau of Indian Affairs had asked, Major Adams would have sent troopers to escort the coach, but perhaps they’d thought secrecy was a better defense. Unfortunately, their miscalculation had been tragic.
Other questions taunted Jack as his horse carried him across the frozen buffalo grass. Who was the female survivor? Agent Gibson’s wife? How many other passengers were on board? The stagecoach company had been wired, but they hadn’t responded with their passenger list yet. There could be more victims who hadn’t been recovered.
Hours later, the sharp tepees appeared on the riverbank. This time of year especially, they reminded Jack of a group of Christmas trees covered in snow. The paths between the tepees were empty, everyone staying snug inside, which was exactly what Jack should have been doing once the wedding celebration had ended. But as much as a mug of coffee and a good book by the fire appealed to him, coming to the aid of a victim in his territory would always be more rewarding.
Coyote, his escort and interpreter, pointed to a boy coming out of a tepee. “This is the chief’s nephew,” he said.
The boy looked surprised to hear Jack’s greeting in his own tongue, and Jack was surprised to understand his answer. His study with Coyote and Ben Clark, the peerless scout, was paying off. Major Adams had recommended that he make this trip without the interpreter, but Jack wasn’t ready. Soon he hoped to be able to converse without relying on help, but with such important matters to be discussed, accuracy was too important to wager on Jack’s uncertain skill.
“This way to the council tent.” The boy gestured with his hand.
Jack followed before Coyote had a chance to translate. So far, so good. But when he ducked through the opening of the tepee, he knew he’d have to ask for help.
The woman looked to be in her seventies, her dark skin lined like a trail map while her sinewy body remained unbent by the years. With her hands flapping and her eyes flashing, she was giving the stately chief what for. Her long gray braids showed that she remembered the days when Chief Right Hand was strapped to a cradleboard, and she clearly didn’t hesitate to speak her mind in his presence.
Chief Right Hand stood with arms crossed, nodding occasionally as the woman’s words came even more quickly. His smooth face remained motionless despite her antics. Suddenly, she held her arms up and mimicked dumping something on the ground. Jack’s Arapaho was coming along, but he couldn
’t catch much at that speed.
“What’s going on?” he asked Coyote.
Coyote managed to get a question through the woman’s tirade. When she turned to answer, she pointed at Jack, then raised her fists to the sky. He couldn’t tell whether she was pleased or angry to see him.
“She’s having trouble with the woman they brought in,” Coyote explained. “She told the chief that they should’ve left her to freeze to death, because that’s what she wants. They have to watch her night and day to keep her from running away. And she refuses to eat.”
That was odd. In all of Jack’s dealings with the Arapaho, they’d always treated their guests well. “Is there something going on that I don’t know about?” he asked Coyote.
“Nothing has changed since the last council,” he said. “They’re still listening to you about the school, although they are getting anxious for the payment that is due.” Then, seeing that the chief was ready to speak, Coyote motioned Jack closer.
Jack greeted the chief in his own language but was afraid to go any further lest he make a mistake. Someday, he promised himself. Someday he’d be as fluent in Arapaho as Coyote was in English. Then the interpreter wouldn’t be necessary.
“Earlier this week, I visited the Darlington School,” Jack said. “Your children are kept warm and are fed well. I only wish more of them were enrolled.”
“It’s hard to part with our children,” Chief Right Hand said. “The village is sad without them.”
“I understand—” Jack said.
“No, you don’t.” Coyote winced at interrupting Jack but had to continue to keep up with the chief. “You do not have children. You have no wife, yet you want to tell us how to be fathers. First, the lieutenant should learn something about being a man.”
The chief knew how to cut a fellow to the marrow, but the military had taught Jack to curb his blunt tongue. “What you say is true,” Jack said. “I don’t have a family of my own, but I’ve seen how beneficial the school can be for your children. They will learn to read and write in English. They will learn how to farm or learn a trade. We believe that the Indian students are every bit as clever as the white students. They just need a chance to prove it. And Darlington is on the reservation. You can visit them whenever you like.”
The chief gazed at his nephew, a handsome boy with proud shoulders and quick eyes. “You’re my friend,” Chief Right Hand said. “You want to help, but you don’t understand the protection a man has for his family. Let our children live in a tall brick house without their tribe, with no one who understands their ways? It’s a hard thing you’re asking us to do.”
Jack could appreciate that. The very reason Major Adams had hired a governess in the first place was that he didn’t want his daughters shipped off to their grandmother’s to be educated. When Jack became a father, if he became a father, he could imagine himself feeling the same. And yet whatever was best for your kids, that was what you did.
“It is hard. And I have the highest respect for your ways. The courage and resilience of your people will make you successful. We just have to figure out how to fit you into the world without destroying what’s important to you.”
Coyote stood silent as the chief had a conversation with his men. Then he spoke to Jack again. “My men are ready to take your soldiers to where the stagecoach is. We left the bodies alone, but we studied the tracks that the bandit left. Only one rider. He headed east.”
Only one? He must be an ambitious sort to take on a stagecoach driver and passengers. And lucky to have picked a coach carrying so much gold. “What about the survivor?” Jack asked.
“She has caused much trouble. We’ve tried to help her—Spotted Hawk made her stew and brought her blankets—but she acts like a madwoman. Unreasonable.”
Which wasn’t unexpected in a woman, Jack figured.
An ambulance had been dispatched as he left the fort. It would catch up later in the day. The last thing Jack needed was a hysterical female on horseback all the way home.
“Take me to her,” he said.
Jack had a brief word with O’Hare, and the sergeant major led the rest of the troopers out to investigate the site of the holdup and recover the bodies. Jack stayed behind and followed the old woman, Spotted Hawk, through the village.
The tepee was situated near the center of the village, a sign that a prominent family had been given the honor of caring for the woman. Jack would make sure to give them something for their trouble, especially if the lady had been unpleasant company.
At the door, Spotted Hawk stopped. “Ladies first,” Jack offered. He didn’t need an interpreter to understand the look she gave him. Spotted Hawk opted to wait outside, despite the cold.
With a quick salute for Spotted Hawk—Jack understood who was in charge at this tepee—he lifted the flap and ducked inside without an escort.
The dark room was cozy and warm, but the smoke took some getting used to. He heard a scuffling, and then his eyes adjusted and he saw the woman rising from the bedding. Her brown hair was matted, and her clothing was muddied and tattered. She was young to be traveling alone, younger than he’d expected. And prettier, too. His heart twisted at the thought of her being abandoned and left to die on the prairie. Despite the wedding cake he’d missed at the reception, he wished he could have reached her sooner.
He tipped his hat, but before he could properly introduce himself, she said, “Quick, that woman will be back any second. We’ve got to go.”
Her voice. It was different, more mature, but so familiar it gave him chills. He peered at her face, and her features aligned with the more youthful version that lived in his memory. She came closer. It was unfathomable. How could she be here? Impossible.
“I apologize for the delay,” he said. His throat jogged painfully. He looked for a wedding ring on her finger and didn’t see one. “We got the report only this morning. We’ll be ready to go as soon as the wagon—”
“You have to get me away from here.” She clasped her hands, straining her red, scratched knuckles. “What do we have to do? Are we going to sneak out once it’s dark?”
Jack felt like a dolt. This had to be a dream. Or a joke. Had Major Adams arranged this? But one look at the rumpled Miss Hattie Walker, and he knew it wasn’t a lark to her. Yet here she was, and Jack’s analytical mind was spinning with what it meant.
“Sneak out?” He looked over his shoulder. She didn’t think this was a hostile situation, did she? After all, the tribe had rescued her. She had everything backward.
He should tell her who he was, but his mouth was full of marbles. Despite all he’d accomplished since seeing her last, he felt like the same tongue-tied boy. What if he said his name and she didn’t remember him? Why couldn’t he think straight when she was around?
“When she comes back,” Hattie said, “she’ll see you and raise the alarm. We don’t have much time.”
He’d sat by her at school, helped her with her homework, walked her home when he had the courage. He’d even invited her to his send-off party when he joined the army. She hadn’t attended, but had she completely forgotten that her old classmate was in the cavalry? And the letters. Jack had braved a few letters to her over the years—just friendly correspondence to keep in touch—but she’d never responded.
He had to forget who she was. Treat her just as he would any other problematic civilian on the reservation. Gathering his wits, Jack puffed out his chest. “I don’t sneak or hide, miss. If I’m off-duty, I might draw the shades, as it never seems like the major thinks of anything he wants to chat about until then. But I don’t hide from danger, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“They aren’t going to give up a captive that easily,” she said. “Walking out seems foolhardy, if you ask me.”
“As far as danger goes, this is so diminutive I couldn’t even measure it with my caliper.” As soon as he’d spoken, Jack wanted the words back. He’d always tried to awe Hattie with his intellect, and she’d never been impre
ssed. He could do better. “What I mean is that I’ve been in more danger several times. A lot of times, actually.”
“I knew what you meant.” She kept an uneasy eye on the door. “Then how am I going to get out of here?”
He was fixing to suggest using the door but stopped himself. This was Hattie Walker standing before him. The Hattie Walker. If ever there was a good time to play the hero, it was now.
Back home, Jack kept his nose in a book rather than play stickball with the boys at recess. But now he was any man’s equal. Now he was here to rescue her. Didn’t he deserve a little credit?
Warm satisfaction spread through his bones as he found his footing. If he played his cards right, she would be in his debt. He’d rather have adoration, but gratitude was a good start.
“It’ll take considerable negotiation skills,” he said. “They might not be agreeable. They might demand a payment of some sort.” No reason for her to know that the chief wouldn’t keep her another day if Jack paid them.
Her eyes widened. Finally she was looking at him like a desperate female should. “I can’t stay here. I have plans.”
“I hope it’s nothing urgent,” he said. “These treaty deals can be tricky. Could take some time.” And the longer it took, the more time Jack had to impress Hattie.
“Please,” she pleaded. “Please do whatever it takes. If I have to stay here any longer . . .”
“Chief Right Hand respects me, but you’re asking a lot. Let’s just pray I can persuade him.”
If he wasn’t mistaken, he saw respect in her eyes. It was about time.
Jack turned to leave and noticed the damp spot in the dirt and the chunks of stew on the ground. Remembering Spotted Hawk’s pantomime, he realized that Hattie’s bedraggled condition might be due to more than the weather.
“How long has it been since you’ve eaten anything?” he asked.
“Three days.” She wrapped her arms around her stomach. “I think they were trying to poison me.”
“Why in the world would you think the very people who went out of their way to rescue you would poison you?”
Bound and Determined Page 10