Inventing Love

by Killarney Sheffield

  A-jin-nay seemed most pleased with their arrangement, gifting her with a soft doeskin, bone needle, thread and a rusty tin of brightly colored beads. Though she knew it was to make a fine dress and pair of leggings to replace the pair he had torn, she was reluctant to make them until she finished the gift she had been secretly working on for him. One day, watching the braves practice with their bow and arrows she developed an idea to make them more efficient. Though the men were quick to reload their weapons she felt she could increase the speed and amount of arrows they could launch at one time. With that in mind Alex set about designing a bow to do just that.

  The day of the corn harvest she presented her gift to him. He held the large bow attached to a long gun-like handle and carefully inspected it. “What do?”

  “You can load six arrows in it here, push this lever with your finger to draw back the bow and then pull the trigger to launch them one at a time in rapid succession.” She placed his hands in position on the smooth wooden stock of the weapon to demonstrate.

  Nodding, he strolled to the thick tree trunk they often used for target practice and took up a shooting stance. Whoosh...whoosh...whoosh. The first three shots went wide, but he lowered the weapon and grinned. “Ta-wan-knee do good. Make fast shoot.” Whistling, he summoned the other braves over and showed them the weapon pointing at her and nodding. Several of the men cast her curious looks and then one by one they all took a turn shooting at the tree trunk. Within an hour many of them were hitting the trunk with surprising accuracy.

  A-jin-nay beamed at her. “Ta-wan-knee show braves how to make?”

  She nodded, pleased he liked the weapon. She could see how proud he was of her, and the love in his eyes shone brightly. Perhaps she belonged here. With a bounce in her step she swept up her basket and hurried after the rest of the squaws to gather the winter’s supply of corn. Tonight, after the chores were done and the others were gathered around the large fire pit for story time, she would start on her new clothes.

  * * * *

  Alex moved to the next row of corn and broke off the ears tossing them in the basket at her feet. “Ta-wan-knee.” She looked up as Oh-nem-ie approached with two other squaws.

  Oh-nem-ie pointed to the other two. “Ta-na-na. Tay-ya-ma.”

  She nodded.

  Her former owner smiled. “How you build shooter?”

  Alex shrugged. “Back in Washington I built many things like that.”

  The three women’s eyes widened. “Spirit magic?” Oh-nem-ie asked.

  “No, my father taught me.”

  “Father great hunter?”

  Alex laughed. “No, he was an inventor.” More women crowded around to hear the story of Alex’s father. Soon every squaw and child in the village had gathered around listening with rapt attention to her life story. By the time she was done and the corn had been harvested, the horizon had faded to a dusky blue, the first stars of the night beginning to twinkle in the sky. Upon arriving back at the teepee she found A-jin-nay seated inside munching a cold corn cake.

  “I am sorry A-jin-nay. I will make your meal right away.”

  He grunted and smiled. “A-jin-nay hear Ta-wan-knee big squaw now.”

  She giggled. “So it would seem. I now have many friends.”

  He finished the last morsel of corn cake and wiped his fingers on his buckskins. “Ta-wan-knee be famous squaw throughout land.” He patted the buffalo furs beside him. “Sit, Oh-nem-ie leave corn cakes and fish for great squaw and A-jin-nay.” He grinned at her astonished look and held out a wooden trencher brimming with food.

  With a tired smile she sat beside him and shared the much appreciated meal. Perhaps she did belong here, finally.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Weston frowned and looked at the sun which rode high in the sky. The nights were cooling, hinting at the season to come that was already tinting the leaves a golden hue, although the days remained abnormally hot. For weeks now they had followed trail after trail in search of the redskins to no avail. They needed a tracker. Picking up the trail of a shod horse he motioned for the general to follow. “This path seems well used, it might lead to a settlement of some kind. Perhaps we can find an Indian guide there who might know the tribe we seek.”

  The general grunted and climbed down from the war machine. “It’s clear you are no tracker, else we would have caught up with them murdering varmints long before now.”

  Turning on his heel Weston ignored the barb and followed the tracks. After almost an hour they stepped into a clearing to the sound of barking dogs. A shabby looking cabin and lean-to barn, with a corral containing four horses, greeted them. A tall man stopped chopping wood and swung around to watch their approach, his ax resting on his shoulder.

  Weston lifted a hand in greeting. “Hello. I am Lord Weston Grendal and this is General Madden. We are looking for an Indian tracker.”

  The man looked them over carefully before sticking a long piece of straw between his lips. “Francis Lightfoot at yer service.”

  Weston looked closer. The man’s black beady eyes and long dark hair betrayed his Indian heritage, though his skin was too light to be a full redskin. “You are a half-breed?”

  “Aye.” The glint in his eyes was openly challenging.

  “We are looking for a group of prairie redskins that might have passed this way a few weeks ago with a red-headed woman.”

  The man glanced at the general and nodded. “Aye, I know the party you speak off. Passed by here near on three weeks ago.”

  “Do you know where they are headed?”

  “Aye.” He swung around, leaned the ax against the chopping block and headed for the cabin. “Ya-no-na.” A native woman appeared at the door of the cabin by the time he reached it. He said something to her in an unknown language and gestured for them to follow him inside.

  Weston and the general entered into the cabin. It was surprisingly open and airy. The one room contained the kitchen and a sitting room. Weston assumed a large half loft above was the sleeping quarters. The squaw nodded to the chairs at the worn table and swung a pot over the hearth to heat. After they were all seated around the table she wiped her hands on her apron and placed tin cups of ale in front of them.

  Francis took a deep drink from his, set it down and cleared his throat. “This red haired woman, she your wife?”

  “No.” Weston glanced at the general. “She is a friend and inventor for the army.”

  “An inventor?” The half-breed raised a shaggy eyebrow.

  The general kicked Weston under the table. “Our reasons matter not to the likes of you. Can you help us or not?”

  The half-breed frowned. “You ask me to track my people then tell me it matters not the reason?”

  Weston hurried to appease the man. “She was taken against her will. We only seek to rescue her and return her to Washington where she belongs.”

  “I see.” Francis openly stared at him for a moment before a small smiled played at the corners of his lips. “You care for this woman.”

  “I…” Weston cleared his throat and tried to sound unaffected. “She is my friend.”

  He nodded but Weston could tell the half-breed saw through his claim. “We will leave after noon meal. Do you have mounts?”

  “No, we have a steam powered machine.”

  Again the brave raised a shaggy eyebrow. “We will use horses. You will pay me for my services in coins.”

  Weston nodded and poked the general. The general glared at him and tossed a small sack of coins on the table which Francis opened, peeked inside and tossed to the squaw.

  “Perrie.”

  A young lad about twelve poked his head over the railing that encircled the half loft. “Yes, Pa?”

  “Saddle the horses.”

  The boy shimmied down from the loft and out the door to perform the task without a word of protest.

  “It will snow soon. I will show you the way, but will not help you fight for the woman.”

  “Very well. Thank
you.” Weston picked up his spoon as the squaw set a bowl of steaming mush in front of him. “After our meal, the general and I will go get the war machine and bring it back here to stay while we are gone.”

  The half-breed nodded and dug into his food.

  * * * *

  Weston guided his horse around a small outcropping of rock as the half-breed rode up alongside. He glanced at the quiet man who smiled back. “Have you lived out here long?”

  “I was born in the cabin. My father was a white trapper, my mother from the tribe you seek.”

  “And your wife?”

  He shrugged. “Left for dead by a white man after a raid on her village by the sea. I found her and brought her here to live with me.” He was silent for a moment. “I see honor in you, not in this general as you call him.”

  Weston glanced over his shoulder at the general who trailed behind with a sullen look on his face. “He does not care if we rescue Alex. He wants to destroy all redskins.”

  “Yet you ride with him?” The half-breed’s face betrayed no accusation, just calm appraisal.

  “I have no choice.”

  Francis shook his head. “Man always has a choice. That is what separates us from the animals, our free will.”

  Weston sighed. “He holds the fate of my mother and sister in his hands. Besides, I cannot run the war machine by myself and I promised to let nothing happen to Alex.”

  “You love this Alex with the hair of fire, yes?”

  “Yes.” It did not feel strange to Weston to say it as he thought it might. It felt...right. “I have hurt her, though without meaning to.”

  The half-breed nodded as if he knew and understood. “You will fight to the death for her.”

  “I hope it should not come to that.”

  “An Indian will not just hand over what he prizes to a white man without a fight.”

  “So be it.” Weston set him jaw and focused his gaze on the trail a head. So be it.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The eve of the second day they reached a wide river. Francis stopped his horse and dismounted. “We will rest here for the night. The village is only a day’s ride along the creek that branches from the river eastward.” He looked up at the fading light on the horizon. “They should be there for another few days then they will be heading south for the winter hunting grounds.”

  Weston followed suit, unsaddled his horse and picketed it between two trees with the others. “Will you come with us to the village?”

  “No.” The half-breed spread his blanket on the ground by the fire Weston was building. “You must go on your own on the morrow. You may use the horses and return them to me later.”

  A few flames flared to life licking at the moss and bits of dried bark he had made into a nest. “Thank you, Francis.”

  The man nodded and then settled down with a packet of dried venison on his bedroll. “I will ask the spirits to guide and protect you.”

  Weston nodded and added some wood to the fire. After eating his own packet of dried meat he settled back on his bedroll and looked up at the stars twinkling in the dusk sky. Was Alex still alive? Had she been tortured or worse? He glanced over at the general who was rolled up in his own bedroll snoring peacefully. Perhaps it was better to leave the man here and go on to the Indian village alone. No, it would not do to leave the man to his own devices. Who knew what kind of trickery he would get up to. It was best to keep his enemy close where he could keep an eye on him. So far the general had been grudgingly cooperative but he sensed the man’s calculating gaze on him constantly. He rolled up in his blanket and closed his eyes. Best he get some sleep for he knew not what tomorrow would bring.

  * * * *

  A horse neighed, then another. Hoof beats thundered in the still of the night.

  Weston bolted upright as the horses’ flight brought him fully awake. He spied the silhouette of a lone rider in the moonlight followed by two riderless horses galloping off in the direction they had come. “General, wake up!” He turned to the general’s bedroll only to find it empty.

  Francis called out to him from the gap between the two trees where the horses had been picketed. “He has taken the horses!”

  “Damn!” Weston scrambled to his feet. “I should have known he would try something tonight.”

  The half-breed stomped to the fire and threw a couple of small logs on it. “He stole my horses.”

  “My guess is he will head back for his army and the war machine.” Weston flopped down on his rumpled bedroll. “I have no choice but to head on to the village on foot and try to warn them.”

  “What will this war machine do?” The half-breed settled down on his own blanket.

  “It will destroy the redskins. They will not stand a chance against it.”

  “Why did this fire haired woman make such a machine to destroy the people?”

  Weston sighed. “She was tricked into it by the general...and myself.” He hung his head. “I did not know at first what the general intended with the machine. I thought he intended to use it on the British, not the redskins. By the time I knew what he really intended it for it was too late.”

  The half-breed shook his head. “They will not listen to you.”

  “Will your people head your warnings?”

  “More than yours, I think.” Francis shook his head. “I hope.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Alex hung the last strip of venison on the line and added green hickory branches to the smoking teepee fire. Thick plumes of smoke filled the hut as she stepped out and tucked the door flap in to hold it and the heat to cure the meat. A commotion at the edge of the camp made her glance in that direction as she tucked a damp red curl behind her ear. A dozen braves snatched up their weapons and jogged to the stand of thin birch trees that lined the creek. Two forms emerged from the trees and walked out to meet them. Alex squinted, shielding her eyes from the bright midday sun. It couldn’t be...could it? Excitement and disbelief pounded in her chest as she ran toward the figures.

  Before she could get close enough to call out A-jin-nay grasped her arm. “Go to teepee, Ta-wan-knee.”

  She shook free of his grasp. “No, it is Weston. Weston has come for me.”

  Anger lined the brave’s face, his eyes sparkling with fury. “No! Go. Ta-wan-knee belong to A-jin-nay!” He shoved her into the hut.

  “Nay!” She faced him with hands defiantly on her hips. “I do not belong to you. You cannot tell me what to do.” With speed that surprised her he struck her cheek with the flat of his hand, the sound startling her almost as much as the stinging slap. Tears welled up in her eyes that she refused to shed as she cradled her flaming cheek in her hand.

  A-jin-nay leaned toward her so that his face was scant inches from hers. “A-jin-nay say stay!” With that he stalked from the teepee.

  Fury forced the fear from her mind and she trailed after him. He stopped beside the group of braves facing the two strangers. Who-na-nay conversed in their native tongue with a half-breed dressed in buckskin leggings and a white man’s shirt. Cautiously she crept to the edge of braves, her eyes settling on Weston who stood slightly behind the half-breed. His eyes scanned the settlement, but he did not move or speak. Finally his gaze settled on her, his eyes widening in recognition. Her heart began to pound so hard against her chest she feared the braves would realize her presence. He tore his gaze from her as Who-na-nay stepped forward and gestured to him with the tip of his spear.

  Who-na-nay’s and the half-breed’s voices raised in anger as they argued. The brave lifted the spear as if to strike Weston and Alex leaped into action. She bolted between Who-na-nay’s spear and Weston. “Nay! Who-na-nay, stop!”

  “Ta-wan-knee, go.” He held the spear in place and glared at her.

  “No.” Despite her fear she held her ground, the spear point pricking her chest. “Weston is a friend.”

  He shook his head. “White man no friend. White man kill. Speak many lies.”

  “No, Weston is my
friend.” She swallowed as the tip of the spear pierced her thin doeskin shirt.

  His eyes glittered dangerously. “A-jin-nay, ya too.”

  A-jin-nay stepped forward and jerked her away, pushing her down in the dirt at his feet.

  Weston raised his empty hands. “I speak the truth. The general is on his way with troops and the war machine to destroy your village.”

  “Who-na-nay, listen. The war machine will kill all your people. You must run.” The half-breed barely spared her a glance as he pleaded with the Indian leader.

  Who-na-nay laughed. “The great spirits will defeat this white man’s machine.”

  “Nay! Who-na-nay listen. I made the machine. I know the damage it will do. You cannot stop it.” Alex regained her feet and clutched the brave’s arm. “You must take your people and run.”

  He scowled at her and shook off her hands. “Who-na-nay not run.”

  She gripped his arm again. “Then listen to Weston. If we work together perhaps there is a way to defeat the general and destroy the machine.”

  Slowly he lowered the spear. “Machine will not work. Not have Ta-wan-knee.”

  “No. It will work even without me.”

  He stared deep into her eyes as if trying to read the truth in her very soul before he jerked the spear to indicate the two men be taken to an empty hut at the edge of the encampment. With a growl he stalked away. When Alex would have followed Weston, A-jin-nay pulled her along behind him to their teepee. Once inside her pushed her back on the furs and mounted her with savage fury. He took her with no apparent thought of anything other than his own release then left her lying there feeling abused and empty.

  Alex wiped away her tears, feeling for the first time the brave who had given up much for her was no longer her friend. She straightened her clothes and poked her head out of the teepee flap. The men were all gathered around the meeting fire, deep in conversation. She glanced around the camp but the women and children seemed to have disappeared. Slipping from the hut she made her way between the teepees to the one she had seen Weston and the half-breed taken to. Two braves stood guard at the flap. Quietly she slipped around to the back and began to dig under the stiff buffalo hide until there was just enough room to slip underneath.