Three weeks, I fretted. Three weeks! I thought the days would never pass. There were bright spots, of course, the brightest of which was hot water. The first time I was allowed to take a tub bath, I thought I’d died and gone to Heaven. And there was the near-forgotten taste of fresh milk, the satisfying aroma of coffee, the fragrance of a real soap, and the comfort of a real bed with a real pillow. Yet I would gladly have traded all the wondrous comforts of civilization to be living wild and free with Shadow.
If only I could see him. If only the days did not pass so slowly. I was accustomed to riding from dawn to dark, to cooking and sewing, to being constantly on the move, and the enforced inactivity was frustrating, to say the least. I did not feel sick, only lost and alone.
Josh came to visit me morning and evening, sometimes bringing me candy or a ribbon for my hair, as well as the Eastern newspapers which were usually several weeks old by the time they arrived at the fort.
I sincerely appreciated Joshua’s thoughtful concern, but it was not Joshua I ached to see, and I begged him daily to let Shadow visit me. And daily he told me such a thing was impossible.
Shadow was behaving badly, Josh said. Had tried three times in as many days to escape from the guardhouse. Had broken Hopkins’ nose in a scuffle. Had nearly killed Sergeant Warren with his bare hands. And when he wasn’t attacking the guards, he could be seen pacing his cell like a wild animal, or standing at the window for hours on end, just staring at nothing. Sometimes the guards heard him beating on the walls with his fists. He was incorrigible, Josh said disdainfully, but then, what could you expect from a heathen savage?
Nettled, I wanted to cry out that Shadow was not a savage, that he was a fine decent man, proud and brave and honest—but I held my tongue. As long as there was a chance Josh could help Shadow—any chance at all—I could not afford to antagonize him by defending Shadow.
When I was finally released from the hospital, I went straight to Regimental Headquarters and demanded to see the Colonel.
Colonel Grant Crawford was a tall, austere man with close-cropped black hair and frigid green eyes. He was very cold and very polite. In short, clipped sentences he told me that he had received orders from Washington stating that the Cheyenne war chief known as Two Hawks Flying was to be executed February 1st. It was felt by certain parties in Washington that the Indian situation would be vastly improved if Two Hawks Flying was disposed of, permanently, before spring.
And then, as if he had just solved all my problems, Colonel Crawford smiled and said I was welcome to remain at the fort as long as I wished.
Taking a deep breath, I thanked the Colonel for his hospitality and then asked if I might see Shadow, prepared to argue my case all day, if necessary. But the Colonel only shrugged and said I could see the prisoner immediately if I so desired.
Five minutes later I was standing in a dark, dank cell located in the bowels of the guardhouse. The cell was little bigger than an outhouse and smelled about the same. It contained no furniture and had no windows and no light save that provided by the candle in my hand. A ragged blanket was spread on the dirt floor. A foul-smelling slop jar occupied one corner of the room. The odor of sweat and excrement was very strong, and I shuddered with horror and disgust.
Shadow stood in the middle of the floor, blinking against the light. He looked thin and discouraged. His long black hair was dirty and unkempt, his clout and moccasins were filthy. Always having taken such pride in his appearance, I knew he must be humiliated—not only by his surroundings but by his own unwashed condition.
“You should not have come here, Hannah,” he said flatly. “This is no place for a woman.”
“This…this dungeon is no place for anyone,” I said. “Why aren’t you in one of the cells upstairs?”
“I am being punished for trying to escape once too often,” he replied bitterly.
“How long have you been here?”
“I am not sure. Two weeks…three. I have lost track of the time.”
He began to pace the length of his prison, his naturally long stride shortened by the heavy leg irons that rattled and clanged with every step he took. Leg irons, I thought angrily. Wasn’t it bad enough to lock him up without shackling him, too? Oh, it was cruel. Shadow was accustomed to vast sunlit prairies and bold blue skies. He should not be locked up in this ugly little cell, away from all he loved.
He came to an abrupt halt and grabbed me by the shoulders. There was a look of quiet desperation in his eyes, and I could feel him shaking with pent-up rage and frustration as he said, “Hannah, tell them to hang me or shoot me or slit my throat, but for God’s sake tell them to do it now!”
“No! You’re all I have left in the world.”
“Joshua will take care of you.”
“I don’t want Joshua,” I wailed. “I want you.”
Shadow let out a long breath, and I felt the anger drain out of him as he pulled me close, murmuring my name. I melted into his arms, lifting my face for his kiss. His mouth was warm on mine, his hands gentle as they caressed my cheek and my hair. Our kisses grew more urgent as our bodies pressed together, and I needed him as never before. It had been five long weeks since the soldiers had found us, five weeks since I had felt his arms around me.
The dirt-packed floor was hard and cold, the blanket he used for a bed was smelly and damp and rough against my bare flesh, but I didn’t care. Shadow was hesitant, afraid of hurting me, but only he could fill the emptiness in my heart and help me get over the loss of our child. Whispering his name, I pulled him down beside me. How I gloried in the feel of his naked flesh rubbing against my own! We held each other tight, straining together, as if we could never be close enough. I thrilled to the touch of his hands on my breasts and belly, felt my insides tingle with excitement as his throbbing manhood probed my quivering flesh.
With eager hands, I stroked the hard muscles in his back and shoulders, reveling in their strength and power. My eyes looked at him and were pleased with what they saw. He was perfect in every way, from his broad shoulders and flat belly to his long legs and arms that rippled with muscle. His nose and mouth were proud and strong, his eyes blackly beautiful. And his hands… Ah, there was magic in his touch and as his mouth descended on mine, the horrid little cell was swept away in a magical transformation. Suddenly it was spring in the high country. The world around us was fresh and clean instead of dark and musty, the cold floor became sweet grass, and the darkness gave way to sunlight as warm as vibrant as our love.
Gently, Shadow caressed my willing flesh, his fingers probing the secret places only he knew until I burned with a fire only he could quench. I moaned with pleasure in his arms, my fingernails digging lightly into his back as I drew him closer, closer…
Later, we lay facing each other, our bodies still fused together. Shadow murmured my name, and I knew then that he needed me as never before. I was the only one who cared if he lived or died, the only one who could free him from his awful prison and from the sentence of death that hung over him like a dark cloud. Somehow, I would find a way, for I could not bear to think of him spending one more day in dreary darkness, living like some kind of wild beast, forced to suffer the indignity of captivity. He deserved better—much better—and I intended to see he got it.
I was allowed to spend thirty minutes a day with Shadow. Sometimes we made love, sometimes we talked, and sometimes we only sat side by side, holding hands, with no need for words.
Daily, I pleaded with Colonel Crawford to free Shadow from that dreadful cell, but the Colonel adamantly refused, insisting that Shadow was much too desperate a character to be treated like an ordinary prisoner.
When I wasn’t arguing with Colonel Crawford or visiting Shadow, I was with Joshua, begging him to please, please think of a way to save Shadow from hanging. The date of his execution was only two days away, and I was half out of my mind with worry. Already, the gallows had been built and a hangman selected.
“Can’t you think of some way to help Shado
w?” I begged. “Please, Joshua, I’d be ever so grateful.”
An odd look passed over Joshua’s face as he said, “As a matter of fact, I have thought of a way that might work, but it depends entirely on you.”
“On me? Oh, Josh, I’ll do anything to save him. Anything!”
“Will you, Hannah?” Josh asked, and his eyes sparkled with an intense blue fire.
“Anything,” I repeated firmly. “Just name it.”
“I want you to marry me,” came his unexpected reply. “Tonight.”
“Marry you?” I exclaimed. “How will that help Shadow?”
“Once we’re married, I’ll arrange for him to escape.”
“But that’s blackmail!” I exclaimed, stunned that he would even suggest such a thing.
“Perhaps. But you said you’d do anything to save him. Here’s your chance to prove it.”
“How do I know you’ll really set him free?”
“You’ve got my word on it. Once we’re married, I’ll see him safely out of the fort.”
“And I suppose a dozen soldiers will be waiting outside, ready to cut him down.”
Josh laughed softly as he took my hands in his. “Hannah, trust me. I’ll see he gets safely out of the fort and into the woods. No gunshots, no soldiers waiting to ambush him.”
“How?” I asked, wanting desperately to believe him. “How will you do it?”
Joshua shrugged. “It shouldn’t be too difficult. There are a couple of men in my company I can trust. I’ll see to it they’re on guard duty tomorrow night—a lock accidentally left open, a horse waiting outside the back gate. All you have to do is marry me tonight, and the redskin goes free.”
“I don’t suppose you’d let me go with him?”
“Not a chance. We do things my way, or he hangs day after tomorrow at dawn.”
Shadow would be lost to me either way, I thought ruefully, but if I agreed to marry Josh, at least he would be alive and free.
“All right, Josh. I’ll marry you. But only after Shadow is safely out of the fort.”
“I’ve waited for you this long,” Joshua said cheerfully. “I guess I can wait one more day.” He threw me a crooked grin. “You know, I never stopped thinking about you. I’ve met a lot of beautiful women since I left Bear Valley, but none of them ever meant a thing to me. Only you.”
“I don’t know what to say,” I stammered. “I’m flattered.”
“You said you’d be my wife, and that’s enough.” Joshua’s hand was on the door knob when he said, “Just one more thing. When you see him tomorrow, I want you to tell him you’re marrying me because you love me. You’re not to mention our agreement in any way. Is that clear?”
Puzzled, I said, “Yes, but why? What difference does it make?”
“Just this. If he finds out you’re marrying me to save his hide from the hangman, he’s liable to stick around trying to get you back. Probably get himself killed after all. But if he thinks you’re marrying me because you want to, he’ll likely head back for Montana where he belongs.”
Josh was right. Shadow would not try to get me back if he thought I was in love with Joshua. His pride would not let him interfere. No real warrior wasted his time with a woman who did not want him.
“You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?” I said bitterly.
“I try,” Joshua answered curtly, and left me alone with my dismal thoughts.
In the morning, I went to see Shadow for the last time. I longed to run to him, to throw my arms around him and pour out my love. But to do so would be like putting the noose around his neck myself, and that I could never do.
Instead I said bluntly, “I’ve decided to marry Joshua.”
“I know,” Shadow replied quietly.
“You know?” I said, frowning. “How could you?”
“Berdeen came to see me last night. He loves you, Hannah. You will be better off here, with him, than you ever were with me.”
“Yes, that’s true,” I agreed, almost choking on the words. “He can give me a home and security.”
Shadow’s eyes probed mine. “Do you love him?”
“Yes,” I lied. “I guess I always have.”
Shadow nodded, his face impassive. I knew I was hurting him, and I wanted to die. He had always been able to read my thoughts. Why couldn’t he read them now? Surely he knew I was lying, that I had never loved anyone else. Only him.
“I hope you will be happy in your new life,” Shadow said coldly, and turned away from me as two heavily armed troopers opened the cell door and motioned for me to step outside.
I stared at Shadow’s back, my heart breaking as I realized I would never see him again. He was lost to me forever now. Never again would I feel the strength of his arms around me, or know the joy of his touch, or hear his voice whisper my name.
I wanted to cry out that I loved him, that the only reason I was marrying Josh was to save him from the gallows, but I could not. Shadow’s life was dearer to me than my own, and I could not let him hang when I could prevent it.
I whispered, “Goodbye, Shadow,” and then one of the soldiers took me by the arm and led me away.
Chapter Seventeen
Restless as a caged tiger, Two Hawks Flying prowled the narrow confines of his prison, feeling as if he’d explode if he had to spend one more day locked up, feeling as if he’d go mad if he had to spend one more hour in the rank darkness. After a lifetime of living wild and free, the constant confinement, coupled with the unending darkness and the weight of chains, was almost more than he could bear. He had not been allowed to bathe, and he found his own smell almost as disgusting as the foul odor rising from the slop jar overflowing in the corner. His empty belly rumbled for food—real food, not the stale bread and tepid water he was served once a day.
Dark thoughts tumbled through the corridor of his mind as he paced the tiny cell. Anger and rage burned through him like slow poison as he pictured Hannah in another man’s arms. Not that he could fault her for marrying Berdeen. She should have married the arrogant paleface years ago and spared herself the miserable life he, Shadow, had given her. She had spent the better part of two years following him around the country, and what did she have to show for it? Nothing. Nothing but heartache and a dead child.
Grief welled in his breast as he thought of his son, a tiny corpse bundled into a dirty Army blanket and buried in a shallow grave on a lonely hillside.
Two years of fighting, and what had it accomplished? Perhaps nothing, he mused ruefully. And yet, had he known the ending from the start, he would have done it all again. He was part of the land, part of the sky and the rocks and the water. He could not have turned his back on all he loved and surrendered without a fight. Nor would he go peaceably to the gallows, or grovel before the hangman and beg for mercy. No, he would fight if given the chance. And if he did not take at least one white man with him, it would not be for lack of trying! And if there were no opportunity to resist, then he would go quietly, with dignity, and not like a dog with its tail between its legs.
Unbidden, the horse killer’s words came to mind. “Eyes bulgin’ and feet kickin’…that’s how you’ll go if I get to tie the knot!”
It was not a pretty picture.
Abruptly, he broke off his restless pacing and raised his arms in supplication.
“Hear me, Man Above,” he prayed in a loud voice. “Grant me the courage to meet death bravely, as a warrior should.”
He did not fear death itself, only the manner of his dying. The Cheyenne believed that the soul left the body with the last breath. But when a man was hanged, his soul was forever trapped in the body by the rope.
He scowled into the darkness. A warrior should die in battle with his weapons in his hand and a war cry in his lips. But hanging! It was a bad way to die, with hands bound and a rope around your neck. But even hanging would be better than spending another day in this awful place, and suddenly restless, he began to pace back and forth. Back and forth. Hour after hour. The
heavy leg irons chafed his ankles, their infernal clanking wore on his nerves. But still he paced, choking back the urge to scream, to hurl himself against the door and beg for his freedom, to call the guard and ask if he could see Hannah one last time. But pride—the fierce, arrogant pride that burned in the blood of every true warrior—stilled his tongue, and a great loneliness settled over him as he realized he would never see Hannah again.
Murmuring her name, he stretched out on the ground, clutching the ragged blanket they had so recently shared.
He was lying thus when the door swung open and a whey-faced trooper handed him a tin plate piled high with roast beef and potatoes. And a water glass filled with whiskey.
“Enjoy,” the bluecoat muttered sardonically, and slammed the heavy iron door.
“The condemned man ate a hearty meal,” Two Hawks Flying murmured, then quickly wolfed down the first real food he’d been given in nearly three weeks.
The whiskey was like liquid flame as it burned a fiery path to his belly. Much better than the cheap trade whiskey he was accustomed to, he wished for another glass. Glass, hell, he’d like the whole damn bottle!
A sudden weariness enveloped him as the last drops of amber liquid trickled down his throat, clouding his vision and stealing the strength from his limbs. The glass fell from a hand gone numb, and he pitched headlong into nothingness…
He awoke, shivering. There was a sour taste in his mouth and a steady pounding, like two buffalo bulls colliding, inside his skull. Uncomprehending, he stared at the stars splashed across the sky for some time before he realized he was no longer locked in his cell, but outside in a wooded meadow.
It was when he tried to rise that he discovered, with some surprise, that he was spread-eagled between four stout wooden stakes, naked as the day he’d been born. Like an animal caught in the jaws of a trap, he struggled against the ropes that held him. But the ropes held fast, and his thrashing about only elicited pain from a new source as the ropes cut into his wrists.
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