Swooping Eagle would not give Toni up without a fight. His pride had been wounded. First by Blake’s refusal to trade and second by Toni’s own rejection.
Sam knew Toni wouldn’t be in any real danger even if Swooping Eagle was successful in his kidnapping attempt. Cheyenne men generally treated their women fairly well. Much like the Sioux, although, as with any race, there were good and bad men among them. But even captives were treated well as long as they did what they were told and didn’t cause trouble. Toni’s unusual, white-blonde hair would make her something of a curiosity in the tribe. The most that might happen would be someone trying to cut off a lock of her hair. But even that Sam doubted. To be sure, she wouldn’t be harmed. But that wasn’t the point. Sam wouldn’t allow anyone to take Toni against her will. She’d been through enough heartache. For the rest of her life, as long as he had anything to say about it, she would have a choice.
He debated whether or not he should advise her to stay in the wagon, but ultimately decided against it. No sense in alarming her before he needed to.
Blake rode up next to him. “You saw?”
Sam gave a grim nod.
“How long before they attack?”
“Any time, if they’re going to.”
No sooner had the words left him than a line of dust rose from the horizon and the faint sound of war cries could be heard. Blake sprang into action. “Circle the wagons!”
Sam spurred his horse and galloped toward Toni. He jerked on the reins and swooped down from the horse. The terror in her eyes shook him to his core. “Come with me,” he ordered.
She nodded and took his hand.
“Ginger, get that wagon in place.”
“What about my guns?”
“Talk to Blake about that.” He had other things to attend to. He led Toni to Sadie Barnes’ wagon. “Miss Sadie, we need something to cover her hair. And the two of you duck under this wagon. You have a gun?”
“You know I do.” The widow disappeared inside her wagon and returned with a shawl. “Here! Take this.”
“Do you think he saw me?” The look of terror in the normally calm, brave woman’s eyes pierced Sam’s heart. But there was no time to do what came naturally and take her in his arms for comfort. There were more important things at hand. He shook his head in answer to her trembling question.
“I doubt it.”
Unless Sam missed his guess, the plan was to kill as many men and make off with as many women as possible. Women and children. With Toni at the top of the list. The Cheyenne camp must not be too far from here. The number of warriors from the other day had grown from twenty to at least two hundred.
This wasn’t going to be an easy fight.
Lord, help us, for your glory.
Miss Sadie pointed her finger to Sam’s chest. “Get out of here, and go where you’ll be most useful. We’ll be fine.”
Toni stared after Sam, suddenly feeling naked for the first time in months. How could he just ride away like that when he knew the Cheyenne were after her?
“Toni!” Miss Sadie shook her arm. “You have to wake up. Get this on and get under the wagon.” Toni nodded and with trembling hands covered her unique hair. “Th-they’re getting closer,” she whispered.
In moments, the air rang as volley after volley of gunfire blasted the atmosphere and arrows zinged into the air. Toni covered her head and stayed on her belly under Miss Sadie’s wagon. She didn’t dare look up, afraid that if she did, she’d see the leering, lust-filled eyes of the Indian who wanted her. On the ground next to her, Sadie reloaded her shot gun and fired off another shot, hit her target with a howl and fired off another. Which missed.
She muttered an oath while she reloaded. Then a hasty prayer of repentance. “Honey, get your face out of your hands and help me. Now I got two shot guns, you keep one loaded at all times. This is not time for you to be playing the coward.”
Shame tore at Toni’s heart. What was she? Some sort of child without the ability to fight back? “You’re right, Miss Sadie.”
The woman nodded her approval. “Do you know how to load it?”
“I think so.”
If memory served, this shot gun resembled the one her father had used to bring down their supper on more occasions than Toni could count. She grabbed the newly emptied gun and went about loading shells into the double chambers. Miss Sadie took it and smiled. “Good girl. Keep ‘em comin’.”
By some miracle, Toni was able to tune out the chaos around her and focus on the task at hand. After what seemed like hours, but most likely amounted to no more than fifteen minutes, the Indians retreated. Toni nearly wept in relief. “Is it over?”
Miss Sadie looked up from the horizon and focused her gaze squarely on Toni’s eyes. “This round.”
Toni’s stomach dropped. “This round?”
A nod jerked the middle-aged widow’s pinned up hair. “They’ll carry off their dead, regroup, refocus, and come back strong.”
“Wh-when?”
“Probably no more than an hour from now. Maybe sooner.”
Toni’s ears perked up at the sound of rustling about, the travelers coming out from under wagons and standing up from their hiding places behind wagon wheels. An angry bellow shot through the air and she knew instantly that Ginger was not happy.
“Get this dadburn thing out of my leg.”
Toni slithered on her belly toward the nearest opening. But Sadie yanked her back. “No you don’t, missy.”
“What do you think you’re doing? I’m going to help Ginger.”
“Nope. You stay here. I’ll go check on her.”
Toni opened her mouth to argue, but Miss Sadie’s glare silenced her. “Now, I know it weren’t your fault, Toni,” the woman said, expelling a breath. “But that Indian wants you for his squaw and that’s what this is all about. It’ll be best for everyone if you stay out of sight with your hair covered up until all this nonsense is over and hopefully we can get through the day with as few dead folks as possible.”
Eight
Pain, white and hot, sliced through Ginger’s thigh. The wagon train folks buzzed past her, none of them appearing to see or hear her, even though she lay out in open view and hollered as loud as she could. Her head was beginning to swim with that sickening feeling just before blackness invaded and unconsciousness became imminent. Her flaw. She fainted at the sight of blood, broken bones, or vomit. And it didn’t take much in the way of pain to cause her to swoon. Horror filled her at the thought of anyone discovering this weakness right out in the open while they rushed around and over her in their panic to tend to their own and prepare for the next wave of attack.
Closing her eyes, she fought the tendency to faint, swallowing hard and trying to focus her thoughts around butterflies and flowers. “Miss Ginger?”
Dread shot through her gut as she opened her eyes and raised them from boots to trousers to a buckskin shirt. Grant Kelley.
He stooped down without asking permission. He whipped a knife from his pocket and reached for her buckskin trousers. “What do you think you’re doing?” Ginger asked, wishing her voice didn’t tremble so.
“Shh. Calm down. You’re losing a lot of blood.”
“Th-that’s not what I asked, mister.”
He met her gaze, his soft brown eyes so earnest, it was almost impossible for Ginger to be angry with him in this moment when he seemed to be the only person alive who cared if she lived or died.
“Miss Ginger. Let’s get something straight. I’m going to cut away the leg of these trousers, so I can get to the arrow lodged in your thigh.”
“Like heck you are!”
A scowl marred his unnervingly handsome face. “Like heck I’m not. Now don’t fight me. I’m not going to watch you bleed to death. And this thing is jammed in tight.”
Ginger knew when she’d been bested and right now, she didn’t have the strength to fight him.
“All right. Do what you have to do. But…”
“But what?”<
br />
She had planned to say, “but don’t tell anyone if I pass out.” But no sense borrowing trouble. Maybe the swimming in her head would stop soon.
“Hang on, this is going to hurt.”
She stifled a scream just as she drifted into blessed darkness.
“Here they come again!”
Less than an hour after the first wave of attack ended, the wagon train had regrouped, and patched up their wounded. Thankfully no one had been killed so far, but Sam wasn’t sure that was going to last. It depended upon how serious Swooping Eagle was about capturing Toni. If it was even about her anymore.
The war cries filled the horizon as the dust kicked up beneath the thundering of horses’ hooves nearly hid the Indians from view until they grew closer. Sam cast one quick glance at Toni, still under the wagon, to assure himself she was safe for the moment. And for the duration, if he had anything to say about it. Arrows filled the air, followed by gunfire. Somehow, half the Indians were carrying rifles. Irritation filled him. How did the government expect to keep the settlers relatively safe if they didn’t crack down on the traders illegally selling firearms to the various tribes? Rifles and whisky. These two things could very well mark the demise of the plains Indians. Sam aimed his own rifle and fired at a brave, whose brief, shocked gaze met his just before he slid off his horse, dead as he hit the ground. Grief filled Sam. Another man lost his life without having heard the gospel of Jesus.
Sam scanned the warriors, searching for Swooping Eagle. He would be the one wearing the most ornate war bonnet. Sam knew the only way to stop this onslaught was to wound the leader or kill him outright. Sam preferred the former. As much as he disliked this man who was obsessed with stealing away Toni, he also knew God loved him and wanted to see him embrace salvation rather than lose his life, godless, on the battlefield. Wounding him would stop the battle, but give Swooping Eagle the opportunity to hear the gospel another day.
This onslaught seemed more desperate than the first one. The braves weren’t as careful. And the loss of life seemed greater from the first arrow launched toward the wagon train. The settlers had the advantage in that they could take cover behind and under wagons, while their attackers were in the open and more than likely knew the chances of survival were slim.
Sam fired off three more shots, hitting his mark each time, before his eyes came to rest on Swooping Eagle. The warrior noticed him at the same time and charged. Lifting his rifle, Sam aimed as well as he could with the chief bearing down on him. They fired simultaneously. Hot pain knifed through Sam’s side just before the ground rose up to meet him.
Toni saw Sam drop and scrambled out from under the wagon before Miss Sadie could stop her. Fannie reached Sam at the same time. “Toni, get back under the wagon. I’ll take care of Sam.”
“No. You go back to Katie.”
“I’m not leaving you!”
“Well, I’m not leaving him.”
As the chaos swelled around them, the two women stopped arguing with unspoken agreement and dropped to the ground on either side of Sam Two-Feathers.
“It’s a clean wound,” Fannie announced. “The bullet went right through. That’s good news. But we’ll need something to stop the bleeding.”
Toni didn’t think. She snatched the shawl from her head.
“Toni!”
“Don’t.” Toni was in no mood to be reminded that her hair had gotten the whole lot of them in this mess. She didn’t need to be reminded that Sam lay on the ground, possibly dying because of her. She pressed the shawl to the wound.
Thankfully, Fannie let it go. “All right, then. Keep pressure on his wound while I go get needle and thread.”
Toni looked down, her heart softening at the blood-drained face of the man who had come to her rescue for the second time. “Live, Sam,” she whispered. Pain shot through her scalp and in less than an instant, she was on her feet, dragged by her hair. A scream tore from her throat. “No!” Horrified, she barely had time to register the startling reality of what was happening. The war chief, his arm pouring blood from a bullet wound, stumbled as he attempted to capture her. Toni reacted quickly, knowing her only chance was to strike where he was most vulnerable. She swung with all of her might and landed her hardest punch on the blood-slicked wound. A roar of pain rose from the Indian and he turned her loose. When he whipped around, he was unsteady from pain and blood loss and Toni knew survival meant one thing: she kicked at his leg and at the same time shoved as hard as she could. The tactic worked as he stumbled and landed hard on the ground. Before she could think, another Indian screamed and raced in their direction. She knew this was the last moment she would be alive. She stood strong, closed her eyes and waited for the end to come.
Only it didn’t. She waited but instead of the blow she expected, there was nothing. She opened her eyes and saw the Indian war chief’s dark eyes boring into her as his brave hurried him outside of the circle of wagons and hoisted him onto his horse. With a swift command, the chief rounded up the war party, and in moments the battlefield was silent.
Blake walked the circle speaking with the families who had lost loved ones. Six in all. Four men, two women. Among them was Mrs. Cordellia Harrison, wife of Charles and mother to Alfred, a simpleton, and Belinda, a feisty young girl about Kip and Katie’s age.
He stopped to pay his respects. “Please accept my condolences, Mr. Harrison,” he said to the grieving man. “We’ll be holding a joint funeral in the morning, as soon as everyone has time to prepare the bodies.”
Belinda’s tear-streaked face peeked up from where she stood over her mother’s body.
“I’d like to bury Mother in her wedding gown, would that be okay Mr. Tanner?”
Touched by her grief, he patted the girl’s head. “I think that would be real nice, Lindy. You go right ahead and do that. Provided your pa has no objections.”
“I don’t care one way or another,” he said. “The girl can do as she pleases.”
Alfred, sixteen years old, sat on the wagon tongue, watching his mother as though trying to wrap his mind around what had happened. Blake went to him and slung an arm around the lad’s shoulders. “You doing okay, Alfred?”
“Ma’s dead,” he said bluntly. “I guess she ain’t cookin’ supper.”
“I guess not, son,” Blake said. “You come to my wagon and Miss Fannie will cook you a good meal.”
“If it’s okay with Pa.” Alfred looked at his dad, the innocence in his clear blue eyes moving Blake. Mr. Harrison wasn’t always the most patient of men. Blake had heard him yelling his frustrations at the lad on more than one occasion. Alfred might have the body of a boy, nearly grown, but his mind would never grow beyond the child he was. It was obvious to anyone that the boy’s pa didn’t have much use for him. And the deceased mother had adored the simple, sweet lad.
Blake turned to Mr. Harrison, whose gaze rested on Alfred.
“Mr. Harrison? How about the three of you join my wife and me for dinner?”
“Huh?” the man looked up, as though startled. Then he nodded. “Oh, sure, sure. Thank ya kindly. We’ll be there.”
Blake continued his surveillance of the wagon train. There were more wounded than he’d expected. But his heart nearly stopped when he found Sam on the ground. Toni next to him, her hands slick with blood as she sewed up a gash in his side.
“What happened?” He felt foolish as soon as the words left his mouth. Of course his friend had been wounded in battle.
“The chief shot him,” Fannie said. “But the bullet went straight through, so we just have to hope for the best. He’s been in and out of consciousness a couple of times in the last few minutes.”
Blake nodded, satisfied his friend was receiving the best possible care. He focused on Toni. “Keep me updated on his condition.”
“I will.”
He turned to Fannie. “We’re having the Harrison’s for dinner. Is that a problem?”
As soon as he saw the incredulous look in her eyes, he knew he wa
s in trouble.
“Blake! After everything we’ve been through, you’re inviting folks to supper? You know how horrible I cook!”
“I don’t think they’ll care, sweetheart.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mrs. Harrison was killed in the attack.”
In a beat, compassion swept away the irritation on her freckled face. “Oh, Blake. I’m so sorry.” She nodded. “I’ll throw something together even if I have to ask Miss Sadie to supper just so she’ll do the cooking.”
Blake bent and kissed his wife. She melted against him, only for a second, allowing him to give her strength. Blake’s heart nearly beat out of his chest at the simple gesture of trust. He loved this woman with every fiber of his being and marveled that she loved him too. She pulled away. Smiled. Pressed the palm of her hand to his chest. “I’ll be fine. You should go check on the rest of the train.”
Reaching forward, Blake cupped her cheek in his palm. “I love you, Mrs. Tanner.”
She blushed and gave a shy smile. “I love you too, Mr. Tanner. Now, go and make yourself useful.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Blake walked away, chuckling to himself. God surely had given him better than he deserved.
Nine
Sam awoke to someone moaning close by. It only took a minute for him to realize the sound came from his own throat. Then it all came back to him. Swooping Eagle had shot him at the same time his gun had fired. Had he killed the warrior? Or had the Cheyenne…
“Toni?”
“I’m here, Sam.”
Relief flooded through him. “Thank God you’re safe.”
She loomed above him, wiping his brow with a soothing, cool cloth. “I’m not the one you need to be concerned about right now.”
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