White Wolf

by Susan Edwards

  Jessie grinned with satisfaction. “And he thinks I can’t handle them,” she muttered, gloating. “This’ll show White Wolf.” Her gloating came to an end when Rickard turned away, his shoulders hunched in defeat, the stick dragging in the grass. She caught sight of his crestfallen face and felt his feelings of failure. And when no one came to his aid, she decided to take pity on him. She rode toward Rickard and dismounted, her custom-made bullwhip coiled in her hand. After all, it wasn’t his fault Wolf was an arrogant bastard.

  Wolf and James sat halfway between the cattle and the wagons, ready to follow with the cattle, horses and the fourth supply wagon, which contained feed and shoeing equipment. “Look at them go, boss. Purdiest sight I think I’ve ever seen,” James said, leaning forward in his saddle.

  Wolf nodded in agreement. On each trip he made, the sight of wagons rolling westward to challenge the wild country never failed to quicken his blood and arouse the wandering soul that was a part of his heritage.

  James suddenly straightened. “Uh-oh, looks like there’s a problem,” he announced, pointing toward the unmoving wagon holding up the line.

  Wolf frowned when it became apparent that Rickard was having trouble. He started forward. “I’d best go lend a hand.”

  James stopped him. “No need. Jessie’s there.”

  Wolf saw Jessie dismount and take up the reins. He grimaced but didn’t voice aloud his doubt that Jessie had little chance of succeeding where the taller and stronger Rickard had failed. But he decided to give the boy a chance, if only to prove to James that he expected too much from his young brother.

  James leaned forward, pride ringing in his voice. “Watch this, boss. Ain’t nobody in Westport better with a whip. An old cowhand who worked for me taught Jess how to use it. Even custom-made that one just for—ah, him.”

  Wolf waited impatiently. Three wagons were lined up behind Jessie and Rickard. Suddenly the sound of snapping and popping jerked his attention back to Rickard and Jessie. The air above the oxen was filled with what sounded like musket fire in a raging battle as Jessie snapped the reins and cracked the whip overhead with a precision that came from years of practice. From where he stood, Wolf had no trouble hearing the shouted, “Gee-haw, gee-haw.” In seconds, the four-yoke of oxen reluctantly trudged forward. Taken aback by the boy’s skill, Wolf raised his left brow with admiration at the graceful movements of rawhide singing through the air.

  “What’d I tell ya, boss. Ain’t that something?” James bragged.

  Wolf remained silent for a long moment. He had the uncomfortable feeling he’d underestimated Jessie Jones, and that didn’t sit too well with him. Angry with himself and the Jones boy for showing him up, he turned away, ignoring the knowing look James sent his way.

  “Get the men in position,” he ordered, pulling on the stallion’s reins. He rode toward the wagons.

  When he reached the two boys, Jessie was already mounted, the bullwhip neatly coiled in hands that looked much too small and dainty to wield such power. With a defiantly raised chin, Jessie made it clear who had won that round. Angry but unsure why, Wolf watched the boy rejoin the herd of wandering cows. His features settled in a grim line. He’d let Jessie Jones bask in this one bit of triumph. The hard rigors of travel would leave little energy for mischief.

  Wolf spent the next half hour riding up and down the line of wagons, giving advice where needed. After a while, he pulled off to one side. “Well, there they go,” he murmured, his sharp gaze following the long line of wagons. Just then, one of the wagons veered off course.

  “Damn,” he swore. “Come on, Black Shadow, we’re not through yet.” He rode up alongside Lars and helped the man halt the oxen who were pulling to the right. With his help, they unyoked the lead pair and put the dominant oxen on the left. Lars, who walked on that side, could control the animal better.

  Wolf waited until the emigrants were at least half a mile ahead of the waiting cattle, then rode back and gave the cattlemen the signal to start out. First came Duarte and Shorty with the remuda or remounts. Saul followed with the supply wagon. Then James and Jordan rode forward, driving a few head of cattle between them. The two brothers were pointers. Their job was to point the long line of cattle by guiding the leaders of the herd. The cattle behind them would gradually swell to four or six across and stretch out half a mile in length.

  Jeremy came next, riding flank, with Claude and Sunny riding swing near the end of the line. Bart and Gunner came last. They were the least experienced, the tenderfeet. They rode drag, the least-desired position; it was their job to keep the herd together.

  When everyone was moving, Wolf hunched low over his horse’s neck and urged the mount forward. The stallion’s long strides quickly ate the distance as they galloped past the bellowing cattle. Wolf lifted his face to the wind, his mane of golden-brown hair flowing behind him. From the corner of his eye, he saw a streak of white racing him. He grinned and wondered if Wahoska would accompany him to Oregon this time or turn around and head for home after a few days on the move. The wolf had yet to make the overland trip.

  As soon as he passed the line of wagons, he gave Black Shadow his head. The blue sky and green grass whizzed by as horse and rider became a blur of black and brown. Wolf gave himself up to the wild ride. Adrenaline surged through his veins as he contemplated the challenges that lay ahead. Not wanting to tire the horse, he slowed the animal to a canter and scanned the countryside. His nostrils flared with deep appreciation for the beauty of the Maka.

  It didn’t matter that he’d been schooled in the white man’s world. He had an inbred affinity with the Wakanpi, the spirits of his world that Indian children were taught to respect, revere and even fear. When he looked upon the green grass, he saw life-sustaining feed for the cattle and horses. He tipped his face up to stare into the clear blue sky and felt the warmth of Wi. And when he looked upon the trees in the distance or listened to the birds singing their special songs, he knew these things were Wakan: sacred, mysterious.

  Finally, his mind and body were free from the driving pace of the last week. He came to a halt and stared back toward the wagons. They were but mere white specks in the distance. But instead of feeling totally relaxed, Wolf found himself gripped by a curious tension, a nagging feeling that something wasn’t right. What it was, he couldn’t say. He scratched the back of his neck. His brows drew together when he recalled his brother’s words spoken two days ago.

  Striking Thunder had returned in the morning for a last goodbye and a parting bit of wisdom. “I do not have the gift of sight that our sister possesses, but I know you travel this path for a reason. You will find the answers you have long sought, and, perhaps your match in a woman as well.”

  A snort of disgust escaped Wolf as his brother’s cryptic words played in his mind. What good was all the knowledge he carried in his head when he had no idea how to put it to good use? He sighed and dismissed Striking Thunder’s words with a shake of his head. Wheeling his horse around, he rode into the wind, and after a few miles, his brother’s words were forgotten.

  Back among the slow-rolling wagons, Daisy “Rosalyn” Portier adjusted her bonnet as she rode away from Westport. Nervously, she glanced over her shoulder toward the town. Desperation darkened her eyes and left her stomach tied in knots. Would they make it? Could they outrun Vern? Her lips tightened. They had to.

  She chuckled, a low, throaty, pleased sound. Her scheme was brilliant. Who would suspect that the newlyweds, Rosalyn and Hugh Norton, were actually Daisy Portier and Dan Tupper, brother and sister? Once they were on the trail, she and Dan along with their “driver,” Sammy, would blend in with the hundreds of other emigrants. Her grin grew smug. Vern Portier would never catch them.

  Chapter Six

  Far from the traveling caravan, an Indian woman paused in her meal preparations to stare up into the Paha Sapa, the towering black hills her people would enter to make their summer camp. Many tribes refused to live in the hills, but her tiyospaye, or clan of t
he Miniconjou Sioux Indians, preferred the secluded sanctuary.

  White Wind lifted her head to the cool breeze. She loved the spring and summer, looked forward to the move. Fingering one long white-blond braid that trailed down the front of her soft, unadorned deerskin dress, she smiled softly as happy memories filled her with joy. It was there, in those hills so very long ago, that she’d discovered love. Humming, she lifted the lid of her prized Dutch oven and stirred the simmering meat and fresh herbs. Then she took another pot and heated water for tea, the one luxury she indulged in every afternoon.

  She was fortunate to have a husband and sons who provided her with little luxuries, and though she greatly appreciated conveniences like thread, fabric, bowls, utensils and a coffeepot, she was content with her life, had never regretted leaving her old life as Sarah Cartier behind. She had four wonderful grown children and a husband who loved her. What more did a woman need to make her life complete?

  The loud report of a firearm intruded upon the bustle of the late afternoon. She frowned. There were some changes to their peaceful lifestyle that worried her, like the need for guns, but worse than those were the cravings for what her husband called the white man’s fool water. Alcohol turned warriors into drunkards, and she was grateful her husband had forbidden its presence in their village.

  With her evening meal cooking, White Wind entered her tipi and picked up her sewing. She didn’t get far on the small pair of moccasins she was beading before she was interrupted.

  “Uncheedah!”

  At the sound of the soft young voice calling out “Grandmother,” White Wind glanced up and smiled at her granddaughter, who stood in the open doorway of the tipi. She held out her arms.

  But a small brown blur pushed past Morning Moon, and hurled himself into his grandmother’s waiting arms. White Wind shook her head and laughed softly as she hugged her grandson to her bosom. Over the boy’s shiny black head, she glanced at Morning Moon, who still hesitated outside the door. “Come here, child,” she invited the shy young girl. Soon, after telling their grandmother about their day, the two children left, leaving White Wind alone with her daughter, Star Dreamer. She indicated that her daughter should sit. “How are you this day, daughter?”

  “I am well,” Star Dreamer answered, her voice unsteady, distracted.

  White Wind studied her. She recognized the faraway look in Star’s fawn-brown eyes and the lines of worry etched across her forehead. It was the same look her mother-in-law had worn when troubled by visions. “Visions?”

  Star Dreamer’s eyes clouded. “Yes. Striking Thunder is on his way home.”

  White Wind stood and wrapped her arms around herself. Her two sons, Striking Thunder and White Wolf, had left to go to Westport together, but her daughter saw only one returning. Her heart pounded with dread. “What of Wolf?”

  “He travels across the land with many wagons.”

  Gripping one side of the hide covering, White Wind went to the opening of the tipi and glanced outside. Her voice dropped. “Wolf has gone west again?”

  Star Dreamer put her arm around her mother’s shoulders. “I see many wagons, people and cattle.”

  Sorrow filled White Wind. She turned away, chewing her lower lip as she paced. A cold, hollow feeling invaded her soul where moments before there had been warmth and contentment. She hugged herself, knowing she should be used to Wolf’s long absences from home as he searched for his purpose in life.

  Closing her eyes, she prayed he’d find it this time. Each time he left home, he returned restless and edgy. Fulfillment and happiness always seemed out of reach for her second son. She wished he could be satisfied with the cabin that had once belonged to her. He was fulfilling his—and her—dream of raising fine horseflesh. And there were many maidens in surrounding tribes only too willing to become his wife. Why couldn’t he settle down and raise a family? But it wasn’t enough. He was driven to fulfill his grandmother’s visions.

  A pang of regret hit her. Wolf had been troubled for so long. Had they been wrong to send him east as a child to be educated? She sighed, knowing it did no good to harbor such thoughts. The deed was done, and she could only hope he’d find whatever it was that was missing from his life. She squared her slender shoulders. “We must offer prayers for his safe return.” She couldn’t bring herself to ask if Wolf would return.

  “I know, my mother. I see many things, but none of them make sense,” Star Dreamer whispered, her gaze wide and confused.

  White Wind understood and drew her daughter into her arms. Wolf wasn’t the only troubled child she had. So long ago, her mother-in-law had forecast two children—twins—each born with a special gift to help their people. Wolf had yet to discover how to use his gift of knowledge, and his twin sister, Star, had never fully accepted the gift of sight passed down from her grandmother.

  She could only hope these two special children of her heart would find peace. Cupping her daughter’s face between her hands, she pressed a kiss to her forehead. “The visions will clear, my daughter. Do not fight them. Time will reveal what will be. Let us hope your brother finds what he is searching for this time and will return safe, free of his haunting thoughts.”

  A deep, booming voice spoke from the door. “Our son will find his way. The spirits lead him, my wife. We must be patient.”

  White Wind glanced up when Golden Eagle entered. Her heart fluttered with pleasure, as it did each and every evening when he returned to her. Her loving gaze slid over his gray-streaked hair and a face browned and wrinkled by years in the sun. His body was still lean and firm, and after twenty-eight years of marriage, her love and desire for her golden warrior continued to grow each day.

  “You must be hungry, my husband. Our meal is nearly ready.” Golden Eagle smiled at her, his eyes hooded to conceal the desire she knew burned there.

  “I’m hungry, but not for food,” he said, his voice low and thick.

  Star Dreamer left with a smile. Golden Eagle closed the flap behind her. But even as Golden Eagle led her to their sleeping mats, White Wind knew she would worry over Wolf until he returned home next summer.

  By late afternoon on the third day of travel, the emigrants reached Blue Mound. Wolf shifted in his saddle and turned his gaze toward the western horizon. The distant blaze of orange and yellow fell toward the earth, flowing into the endless fringe of green stretching out before him. Beneath him, Black Shadow snorted and pawed the ground restlessly, shaking his huge head as the herd of cattle approached. Wolf caught a glimpse of the animals’ white eyes, and tightened his knees, ready when the stallion stood on his powerful hind legs to paw the air with his front hooves. His scream of rage blotted out the nervous bawling of the herd.

  Wolf leaned forward and battled for control of the high-strung mount. He forced the horse back down on all fours. The black beast continued to prance as Wolf murmured soft reassurances into the animal’s ear. “Easy, boy, easy,” he crooned, patting the stallion’s sleek neck until Black Shadow calmed.

  Twisting in his seat, he surveyed their surroundings, then glanced at the sun’s position behind a light layer of clouds. Though there were several hours of good travel light left, he decided to stop for the night. Over the last couple of days, he’d relentlessly pushed both men and beasts hard, concerned that the cattle might break away and run for familiar land. But now that there was enough distance between them and Westport, he no longer worried over the herd bolting. He also knew many of the emigrants wanted to explore Blue Mound.

  Pursing his lips, he let out a loud, ear-piercing whistle. It was the signal to stop. He murmured soft words in Lakota to the nervous horse.

  James joined him. “We’re stopping already, boss?”

  “Yep. I’ve pushed the animals hard. They need to rest.” He pointed to an area between Blue Mound and the Kansas River. “Graze the cattle there and I’ll circle the wagons here, close to the river.”

  “Will do, boss.”

  Wolf left James and rode toward the waiting wagons, w
hich were spread out three abreast across the prairie. He’d encouraged them to fan out until single file became necessary. Single file, there wasn’t going to be any way to avoid the choking dust that later would become a part of their daily diet.

  “Circle to your left, Elliot.” Wolf continued to call instructions until each wagon tongue lined up with the rear wagon wheels in front of them, the teams of oxen standing inside the semicircle of white-topped canvas wagons. He left one opening, which would be closed off after all the animals were inside for the night.

  Dismounting, Wolf tied his stallion to the back of the supply wagon, then watched Jessie unhitch the oxen, check them over and wash their backs. He watched, looking for fault, but found none. Once again he was forced to admit that Jessie had a way with the lumbering beasts.

  Jessie crossed the space in front of him. “Rook, I’m taking the teams out to graze.”

  Wolf narrowed his eyes. “Don’t be long. There’s work to be done,” he reminded him, making sure that the boy didn’t shirk his duties.

  Jessie’s head snapped up. Resentment-filled green eyes flashed with temper. “I have never shirked my duties and don’t intend to start now.” Without another word, Jessie drove the weary oxen outside the corralled wagons.

  Wolf ignored the frown of displeasure Rook sent his way. His old friend didn’t know the boy’s penchant for getting into trouble and would be too easy on him. Wolf planned to keep the boy so busy, he’d be too tired to get into mischief.

  After the oxen joined the others to graze, Jessie trudged back to the wagons, her boots sinking into the rain-softened earth. She was tired; every muscle and bone ached from the long hours of travel. Aside from keeping an eye on the herd of cows, she’d spent her time on the trail gathering wood.