She almost didn’t have the energy to worry about where these men were taking her. And who were they? Dressed up in all the fancy furs and beadwork and feathers and wearing so much paint, it was almost impossible to tell for sure if she’d seen them before.
A few looked familiar. Maybe.
But familiar from Hungry Wolf’s band of Peigan? Or had she seen these men when she traveled with Antoine to meet the tribe of Blood Indians over the mountains?
The tawny arms around her were solid as steel, keeping her from bouncing off the horse—and from any thought of escape. Of course, whether he rode with her or not, she wouldn’t have much chance of getting away, surrounded as she was by at least twenty Indian warriors. And she’d not had a chance to reach for the gun hiding under her skirts.
At last, they came to a rocky trail that climbed upward, which required them to slow to a walk. The horses spread out single file, with some riders in the lead, others bringing up the rear, and the loose animals tucked sporadically in the middle. Dusk had fallen over the land, which meant darkness would soon be on them. She didn’t recognize any of the mountains that now surrounded them on all sides.
“Where are you taking me?” She twisted to see her captor, the man who had leapt behind her on her horse as the Indians surrounded her. She’d been so focused on watching Joseph prepare the deer in the distance, she’d not heard the riders approach until too late. He’d been like a panther, this Indian, silent and lethal as he clamped one hand around her waist and another over her mouth. Her mare had bolted forward, and the rest of the men and horses fell into stride around them.
Now, he didn’t respond at all to her question. He might not have understood. Or probably didn’t care.
What had Joseph thought when he couldn’t find her? He’d surely see the tracks. Would he try to follow?
A new fear clutched in her chest. He would follow. She had no doubt of that. But he’d be murdered in an instant if he tried to take on twenty Indian braves. Lord, give him wisdom. Keep him safe.
THE DARKNESS WAS ALMOST smothering.
With clouds covering the moon and stars, Joseph had to move slower than he wanted to follow the tracks. Even with so many hoofprints churning the snow, the shadows played tricks on his eyes until he could barely tell the difference between a snowdrift and a hoof mark.
Or maybe he was losing his mind.
It’d been about an hour since Thunder Rumbles left. He’d signed something about going back to get more men from his tribe, which would be helpful if it were true. It was hard to tell if the man was weaving a well-played trick and had Monti stowed away in his lodge even now, or if the distant tribe of Bloods really had kidnapped her.
Joseph had nothing to go on except these tracks and his senses.
And God.
The voice seemed to whisper in his mind. Part of him wanted desperately to pray for Monti. To turn her safety over to a God who cared and could be trusted to actually keep her unharmed. If only God would do that.
He’d not protected Joseph. Not kept his body whole through that agonizing hour buried under snow and rock.
But maybe...maybe He would do it for Monti.
God, do you care? She’s come all the way out here for You. Will You protect her from harm? Please? For Monti’s sake.
An image filled his mind of her dark, expressive eyes, smiling at him with those perfectly full lips. The flashing white teeth. Every feature refined to perfection. No porcelain doll was as beautiful as Monticello Bergeron.
And then his mind tried to imagine her bound and held tight by an Indian. A man with lusting eyes and plans to—
He forced his mind to clamp a lid on those thoughts before his anger took over. He had to focus.
A sound murmured in the darkness. A crunching of snow, perhaps? He reined Copper to a stop and turned in the saddle, peering for movement or shadows as he raised his rifle. The snow seemed to echo the faint noise so it was impossible to tell from which direction it came.
Could it be the Indians he was tracking? Maybe they stopped to camp for the night. He had to figure out where they were so he could sneak up on them. Maybe this was his chance to free Monti, even before Thunder Rumbles and his fellow braves arrived like a regiment of cavalry.
He slipped off his horse and led the animal to the side of the trail, off the wide swath of tracks. Maybe he should leave Copper here and move forward on foot.
The sounds of snow crunching seemed to grow louder. Then he heard the snuffle of a horse. Another nickered softly.
Joseph spun toward the noise. They were coming from his backtrail. Surely Thunder Rumbles hadn’t returned so soon.
As Joseph waited just out of sight in the eerie darkness, the sounds grew louder. A group of riders, to be sure. Then the animals emerged from the blackness like spirits drifting from the dark place. Indians painted for war, feathers and war bonnets decorating their heads.
And there, front and center, rode Thunder Rumbles like the commanding general.
Should he step out and show himself? Or let them pass? If they were truly helping, he should join them. Maybe he’d learn more if he followed for a while. But why would Thunder Rumbles ride to find him if Monti hadn’t actually been captured by enemy Indians?
He had to make a decision. Decide whose camp to join. Which side of the battle would he fight with? If only he could know for sure who was on his side. But there was no more time to ponder.
Before he could stop himself, he stepped forward, pulling his horse with him.
Chapter Twenty
I am more thankful than I can say for these unusual gifts.
~ Joseph’s Journal
THUNDER RUMBLES SAW Joseph first and threw up his hand to stop the others as he reined his horse to a nervous halt. He motioned for Joseph to come forward and spoke a string of Indian words.
Joseph stopped a half dozen strides before the man. He should say something, but none of the Indian’s language sprang to mind.
There was a stirring among the mounted Indians, and one of them rode forward through the midst. Three Shadows. The man who’d invited Joseph to join their hunt.
“Hello, Joseph.” He knew a little English, speaking in a stilted accent.
Joseph nodded at the man. “Three Shadows. I didn’t expect to see you all so soon.”
The man made an angry gesture. “Our enemies steal horses. We ride to fight. Find Thunder Rumbles. Hear of woman also stolen. We ride with you.” Another gesture like he was throwing a spear. Or maybe stabbing a knife into his enemy’s heart.
We ride with you. The words rang through him like a rallying cry. They’d come to help him. To bring Monti back.
Certainty flooded his veins as he mounted Copper and turned to the Indians. “Let’s go.”
They rode for another hour as the trail wove through mountain passes and up rocky slopes. It was hard to recognize the landscape in the thick darkness, even though he’d ridden this country a hundred times at least.
Thank the Lord for the recent snow, they never had to worry over losing the tracks of their prey.
Thank the Lord. Did he really think the snow was a gift from God, given to aid their search? The snow did come from the Almighty, there was no question of that. But whether God sent it to help, well...maybe.
At last, Thunder Rumbles slowed his horse and raised a hand to halt the group. He spoke low in the Peigan tongue. The only word Joseph could decipher was enemy.
Three Shadows rode up beside Joseph, and he looked to the man for translation. “We near the enemy camp.”
Thunder Rumbles spoke again, and Three Shadows interpreted. “We send two or three men to scout. See the enemy.”
There was a general stirring among the men. Motioning.
“You should be among them.” Three Shadows eyed Joseph.
Thunder Rumbles turned to look at Joseph, too. The man seemed to be studying him. Joseph met his gaze.
“I’ll go with the scouts.” Joseph eyed the man who’d wanted
Monti as wife.
After a long moment, Thunder Rumbles spoke. Joseph couldn’t make out any of the words, so it was good when Three Shadows translated.
“He said you should go. The woman would want it.”
Thunder Rumbles held his gaze, then gave a single nod. A finale. Giving him a distinct feeling the man had just conceded to Monti’s wishes.
The group selected three of them to move forward alone—Joseph, Thunder Rumbles, and Three Shadows. They left their horses with the others and crept over the rocky terrain, around the base of a mountain. If memory served, the Indian camp should have been just around the jut in the rock, down in a ravine.
When they finally reached the point where the camp unfolded before them, they crouched to study the activity among the teepees. A few figures moved among the structures, outlined by the light of campfires. To the right, a group of horses milled restlessly. One animal squealed in the manner of horses just getting to know each other.
“Our horses.” Three Shadows voice came out low and throaty. Dangerous.
“We have to find Monti first, then the horses.” Joseph kept his voice low but firm. “Any idea where she is?”
Three Shadows translated, but before either of them could answer, two figures stepped from a lodge in the middle of the camp. Monti’s long brown skirt and regal bearing were unmistakable. The brave walking behind her appeared to have a tight grip on her arm.
The Indian walked her toward another teepee, and they entered through the opening flap. That particular lodge was one row in from the outside of camp on the opposite side. If they could sneak around the camp and enter from that side, they might be able to get to the back of the lodge without being seen. Possibly.
“Should we try to sneak in? Or pretend to be one of them?”
Three Shadows shot him a skeptical look as he translated for Thunder Rumbles. Then he said, “You think you look Kainai?”
Joseph shrugged. “My sister’s husband did it once to save her from the Apsalooke. He almost got away with it.”
Three Shadows spat on the ground. “Apsalooke not have good eyes.”
For just a second, Joseph fought a smile at his friend’s obvious prejudice. But then the direness of the situation crashed over him, knocking the humor from him in a solid blow. He focused on the lodge where Monti and the Indian had entered. “So we sneak around the back?”
Thunder Rumbles shook his head, then turned to him and used his hands and sign language to outline a plan.
IF MONTI DIDN’T KNOW better, she would have thought she was in Dashi’s lodge again. The only thing missing was Hollow Oak lying on the pallet. From the animal-skin couch to the baskets of supplies and the stacks of bedclothes, everything seemed eerily familiar.
Every time she looked at the man sitting on the couch opposite her, dread crept over her arms and shoulders, slid down her back, and she had to force herself not to pull her coat tighter around her. A fire burned in the center of the dwelling, and a woman busied herself with what looked like food preparations against one wall. She sent Monti regular glances but hadn’t spoken yet, at least not since she’d searched Monti and found her gun. There was no telling where that gun was now.
The man hadn’t looked at her in a long time either. He just sat there, smoking his pipe and staring. After each inhale of the tobacco, he would pull the pipe aside and breathe a long stream of smoke toward her.
What did he intend? He was the one who’d swooped onto her horse and held her in his iron grip on the long ride to this place. He’d not let her out of his sight once in all those hours. Maybe after he ate whatever the woman prepared, they would all go to sleep and she could sneak away.
But as the hours passed, Indian after Indian entered to visit with the man smoking his pipe, even though her weary bones told her it had to be the middle of the night. The man seemed quite proud of himself, puffing out his chest as he spoke with his visitors, occasionally motioning toward her. They all seemed to speak with deference, as if he were an important man among them.
His position in the tribe only made the greedy glint in his proud gaze that much worse. What would he do to her? Lord, let him wait until tomorrow. Give me escape tonight.
The squaw had lain down on a pallet of furs, and now loud, steady breathing drifted from her.
Monti hadn’t been able to bring herself to lie down, fearing she might not be able to keep herself awake. Exhaustion pulled so heavy at her eyelids and limbs. But maybe if she pretended, the Indian would stop staring at her and fall asleep himself. She tilted onto her side and closed her eyes.
He didn’t at first, and she had to pinch herself over and over to keep awake. Especially with her eyes closed.
At long last, the man laid aside his pipe and stretched out on the furs beside the woman. She must be his wife. Did he also plan to take Monti as his wife? The thought made her stomach churn even worse, and her throat tightened until it was hard to get breath through. Many Indians had more than one wife. She’d learned that early on. Especially the chiefs. Yet, she couldn’t imagine the idea. She knew nothing of this man.
Surely this couldn’t be God’s will for her life.
When the Lord saw fit to take her papa at such a young age—and right there in front of her—she’d come to terms with it. She and Mama had worked hard and become quite independent. And when that...that cad...had accosted her when she was fifteen, she’d overcome it. Learned how to protect herself so it could never happen again.
And then... Moisture surged to her eyes, unbidden, and she fought to send the tears back where they belonged. She’d finally stopped crying over Mama, and this wasn’t the time to start again. Inhaling a long, silent breath, she focused only on the facts. Mama had passed. Monti had found a buyer for the business. It had all come together so smoothly.
The ease of wrapping up her life in Montreal had been one more sign to her that her spirit’s urging to come join Antoine had been the Lord’s will. Oh, she’d had a bit of trepidation about coming to such a wild, unsettled land. Would the Indians accept her? But not once had she ever truly questioned whether this was the place God wanted her.
She’d overcome so much. Endured. Fought with determination and tenacity and mental fortitude.
Had it all been for naught? God, what did I do wrong?
The battle is not yours, but God’s. The words drifted through her mind like a whisper. Was that a verse from Scripture? Maybe.
The battle is not yours. Was God asking her to sit quietly and wait? The thought raised sheer panic in her chest. How could she not fight when the stakes were this high?
And then she remembered where the passage came from. Antoine had mentioned it just days ago when he’d shared the story of King Jehoshaphat. The Israelites had been preparing to go out to battle against a great army, and the Lord told them they would not need to fight in the battle.
Set yourselves, stand ye still, and see the salvation of the Lord with you, the verse had said. The thought had struck her as so unusual when Antoine described it. But Jehoshaphat hadn’t questioned God at all. Not only did he tell the people not to fight, he commanded them to sing praises to the Lord during the battle.
And God had been true to His word. He’d made the enemies fight between themselves until not one person was left.
Could she trust that intensely? Sit quietly and wait for God to act? How long would that take? What if this Indian tried to take her...as his wife? Did she sit quietly and let that happen? Oh, God.
Rest in the Lord and wait patiently for him. Another passage from the Psalms.
“Dear Father.” She whispered the words, building up her courage for what she had to say next. She had to. I will wait for You, Lord. Fight my battle. Please. She couldn’t help tacking on that last part.
Kind of like the man in the Bible who reached out for Jesus to save his son. Lord, I believe. Help thou mine unbelief.
She tried to force herself to relax then. There was no reason to keep herself awake now, if sh
e wasn’t planning an escape.
But it was a long time before the tension eased from her muscles.
JOSEPH PRESSED HIS elbow on the bottom of the animal hide at the base of the lodge and worked his knife through the material. He had to jab hard to pierce the thick leather, then saw to widen the opening, which made his progress painfully slow. No matter what, he had to stay silent.
He could only pray the soft, steady breathing drifting through the animal-skins belonged to Monti and not some other woman. They’d studied the camp, found the guards stationed in strategic areas. Then watched this lodge for hours until finally the place seemed to quiet. Finally, they’d snuck around to the backside of the village, to the one place they could enter without meeting a guard.
He’d been the only one to creep through the camp to this teepee, though. It was up to him to get it right. Or he may very well die trying.
Let this be her, God. Please. Over the last few hours, he’d prayed more than ever, more even than during the avalanche. At first, he’d caught himself sending up quick prayers. But as the hours passed and he saw each successive man enter the teepee, his pleas had become more regular...and much more desperate.
God, if You’ll just keep Monti safe and get her out of here, I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll take her place if you want me to. Or I’ll make her go back to Montreal. The first time he said that, his chest threatened to close off his breathing. Could he really send her away? Maybe he’d go with her.
For now, better to focus on something he could actually commit to.
I’ll be a better man, God. I’ll read the Bible again. I’ll settle down and stop wandering so much. Anything You ask. Just please, Lord, don’t let them hurt her. Help me get her out of this place.
He finally cut through about four inches of the hide stretched over the lodge poles. Parting the slit, he bent low and peered through. The inside was dark with shadows concealing the details of each shape. After a minute or so, his eyes adjusted to the dimness.
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