Savage Dawn

by Cassie Edwards

  She ripped a portion of her cotton petticoat away and took it to the stream to wet it.

  She returned to where the Indian still lay so quietly on the blanket. She wondered if she had lost her sanity, getting so close to an Indian, who could kill her with one plunge of his powerful knife.

  She saw where he had put down his quiver of arrows, and then looked at the lovely bow that rested not far from where he lay.

  Now that she looked around her, she saw his horse tethered amongst some nearby trees. On it was a buckskin bag that must hold more of his belongings. She also saw a rifle in the gun boot.

  Frightened at the sight of the weapons, Nicole swallowed hard and fell to her knees beside him.

  Gently, she applied the wet rag to his fevered brow. As she wiped it, his eyes flew open and one of his hands reached up and grabbed her wrist.

  She gasped as she felt the true strength of the hand that held her wrist. Had he tricked her into coming near just so he could grab her?

  Their eyes met in silent battle.

  Chapter Eight

  It was the habit of the Mormon people to come together in one place to eat their meals. The sun poured warmly through the dining hall window and upon the long table around that sat the adults of the new Mormon settlement of Hope. The children sat at another table of their own, a little distance from their parents.

  They spoke quietly among themselves as they ate their dinner of fried chicken. The milk in their tin cups came from the cows that were housed in a barn at the far end of the village. In other smaller buildings, hogs and chickens were kept.

  All of the animals, including the horses that were kept in a corral beside the barn, were owned communally, with no one having more than another. Earlier in the day, the young men of the village had cared for the horses and other animals, while the girls had busied themselves gathering eggs.

  The little ones had amused themselves holding the new golden chicks, or petting the foals.

  Other children had fed the hogs from the food that had not been eaten the prior day. It made a fine meal for the animals that were being fattened for butchering in the near future.

  Jeremiah and his family were the newest addition to the small town of Hope, welcomed warmly with hugs and gifts, and even a small house already built and ready for them to move into. It was not a cabin, but a whitewashed house made of planks of wood, like the other houses in the community.

  It had rooms enough so that the girls could sleep separate from their mothers, and a well-equipped kitchen. There was even a water pump installed at the sink.

  Happy to finally be in the new settlement, Jeremiah ate his chicken heartily as he sat straight and tall in his chair, with a wife on each side of him.

  He glanced over his shoulder at the children, all sitting together, and noticed that the oldest of the boys were teasing the girls who sat opposite them at the table.

  Jeremiah smiled at how well his daughters took to the teasing, for he knew that among those fine young men might be the very ones who would be Jeremiah’s sons-in-law one of these days.

  He returned to his eating, thinking about how good it was to have finally arrived at Hope, where his family could live with others who shared their beliefs.

  He would make certain that his family was happy in this community.

  And now that they were all settled down, he had decided to find himself a third wife from among the unmarried daughters of his friends.

  He wanted many children, and he hungered for a son.

  Children were the future of the Mormon people. The more children born into each family, the more blessings would be bestowed upon them.

  He had not admitted to anyone his embarrassment at not having sons, but he felt it made him look less of a man in the eyes of the others. But he was embarrassed. If it took five more wives to bring him a son, so be it!

  A commotion outside the dining hall drew his attention to the door. Someone had just galloped up on horseback.

  No one needed to get up to see who had arrived, for the man burst through the door, breathless. He strode over to the dining table, alarm showing in his dark eyes.

  It was Jacob, the one chosen to keep watch for marauding Indians and others who might mean harm to the community. His beard was golden and his eyes blue, his clothes covered with dust from his hasty ride. He wrung his hands as he looked from man to man and then finally spoke.

  His voice quivered, betraying just how distraught he was over the news he was bringing.

  “There’s been a massacre,” Jacob blurted out. “I came upon it when I rode to Tyler City to see how our new neighbors were faring. I didn’t have to get close to see the black smoke billowing into the sky. I knew from that smoke that there was some disaster.”

  “Tell us about it,” one of the elders commanded. “You said a massacre. Does that mean that no one in that new town survived?”

  “No one,” Jacob gulped out as he wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “I came upon the scene not long after it happened, for some of the buildings were still afire, while others lay in smoldering ash.”

  For several moments, Jeremiah’s mind was absorbed by the horrors of Jacob’s report, but, then he suddenly remembered the young and beautiful woman on the stagecoach, whose destination had been Tyler City.

  She was headed there to join her family. She had spoken of being the teacher for the new community.

  He got a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as he wondered if she had arrived in the town before or after the massacre.

  Without further thought, he jumped up from his chair. He moved so quickly that it fell over on its back on the floor, which drew all eyes his way.

  “I have something that must be done,” Jeremiah stiffly announced. “Which of you men wants to join me?”

  “What are you going to do?” one of the men asked as he stood up and gazed at him. “Why now?”

  Jeremiah did not want his wives to know what he had on his mind—the welfare of the pretty woman from the stagecoach—so he did not even give them a glance as he stepped away from the table.

  “Those of you who want to join me, come outside and I shall explain my plan to you,” Jeremiah said brusquely. “But I only need a few. The rest should stay behind and protect our women and children. Who is to say whether our community might be the next to be killed off?”

  The women gasped at that statement, and some of the smallest children began to cry.

  “We must face reality,” Jeremiah said, sorry to see that what he had said had upset the women and children. “There are those who do not enjoy seeing a prosperous community. They are the sort who do not know how to be successful themselves. It is that kind who kills without feeling. It is that kind we must protect ourselves from.”

  He looked around at the men. “Come now, those who will ride with me today,” he said tightly. “Come outside and I will tell you my plan.”

  Jeremiah led the way as those who would ride with him followed.

  The others stayed behind in the dining hall, already discussing amongst themselves what they must do to protect their wives and children.

  Outside the dining hall, out of earshot of his two wives, Jeremiah gathered the men around him. “On our way to Hope, there was a woman in the stagecoach,” he said, moving his eyes slowly from man to man. “Her destination was Tyler City. In fact, the town was named after her family. She was a fragile-appearing woman who would not be able to fend for herself alone in the world. You know that no lady, especially one as tiny and fragile in appearance as that young woman, can survive, alone. Think about your wives. Should they be parted from you, do you think they would have the skills to survive?”

  Each man shook his head.

  “And so do you agree that we must go to rescue this young lady, who may be out there alone, afraid, and helpless?” Jeremiah asked, not giving even a hint of the true reason that he wanted to find her.

  Although she was petite, the girl had not truly looked fragile in an
y other way. He was just saying that in order to make the men feel sorry for her enough to go and seek her out.

  The very moment she had stepped into the coach, he had been attracted to her. He had seen her as someone who would make him the perfect third wife.

  She was so young and healthy, surely she could bear him a son…perhaps many!

  He just hoped and prayed that she was still alive and that he and his friends could find her. If they did, they would invite her to return to Hope with them.

  Although Jeremiah’s true need of her was to bear him sons, he would tell her that she was welcome in their town, and that she could use her skills as a teacher, instructing the children.

  Thus far, no teachers had agreed to come to Hope.

  If this woman, whose name he now recalled was Nicole, was rescued, wouldn’t she be more than willing to remain in Hope as their teacher, and then…later…become a wife to one of the community’s most upstanding citizens?

  After the men agreed that Nicole was worth looking for and saving, they readied themselves with firearms and then went to the corral for their horses.

  Jeremiah felt eyes on him as he rode from the town. He turned and saw his two wives standing at the edge of Hope, hand in hand, watching as he rode out, possibly to his death.

  He had thought of that, himself, but each man was well equipped now with a rifle in his gun boot or at the side of his horses. He had plenty of backup.

  They also had said a silent prayer before mounting their steeds.

  Jeremiah looked away from his wives and gazed straight ahead again, hoping by nightfall he would be still alive, and that he would have saved a woman whom he already thought of as his.

  Chapter Nine

  Her heart pounding hard, her breath now coming in short, frightened gulps, Nicole felt glued to the spot as she recalled the last few minutes.

  “Leave,” the Indian had commanded, gazing into her eyes while he gripped her wrist. “Go away. Leave now, or you will die.”

  Nicole’s pulse had raced at that spoken threat.

  She’d looked quickly at his rifle, which was too far for him to reach. Then her eyes had settled on the knife that was sheathed at his waist. Again she’d looked at his eyes. Slowly, they had closed, and his grip on her wrist had lessened until finally his hand fell away.

  She knew that she should take this opportunity to jump up, mount her horse and ride away, but as she saw it, he was no threat at all to her. Although his grip on her wrist had been strong enough, she still didn’t believe that he had the strength it would take to harm her.

  Although his words seemed to ring in her ears and linger there, Nicole couldn’t just leave without at least trying to help him.

  How could she turn her back on someone who was in need of help, even if that person was an Indian? And hadn’t he pleaded earlier for her help?

  She couldn’t make any sense of his contradictory words.

  But she was very aware that measles could be fatal. Most people recovered from the illness, yet some didn’t.

  She knew that there was no cure for the disease. Tender, loving care from a loved one was often what helped the ill pull through. Her mother’s loving care had brought her through the disease.

  This man seemed to have no one.

  Had his own people chased him off, from fear of getting measles themselves?

  He was apparently a man all alone and she just could not leave him there without at least trying to help lower his temperature. She believed that if someone did die from measles, it was because of a fever that had gotten out of control. And that seemed to be the case with this Indian.

  No matter what he said, she would take the time to bathe his brow and his powerful chest with cool water. Even if it took her all night, she would try to help him in the only way she knew how.

  She was in no hurry to leave this place. At least here she would be safe from Sam Partain.

  She would not allow herself to think about that, not now, not when she had the chance to save somebody’s life as she had not had the chance to save her own parents.

  Nicole gazed again at the sleeping Indian.

  Yes, she was in no hurry to get anywhere, for she had no destination. She had no place to go and was as alone as the Indian; time meant nothing to her anymore.

  Her future was one large question mark.

  When Nicole heard the Indian groan, she rushed to the stream and wet the piece of her petticoat again, but didn’t wring it out. She wanted to get back to the Indian with as much water on the cloth as she could.

  With the cloth dripping wet, she hurried to him, then quickly knelt and applied it to his feverish brow, his cheeks, and then his chest.

  Suddenly Nicole felt the Indian shiver, whether in pleasure or shock at the cold water. She did not know.

  She looked quickly at his eyes and grew pale when she found them open again. He was watching her every move.

  She flinched, dropped the cloth, and crawled quickly away, stopping a few feet from him. Only then did she turn to look at him again.

  When their gazes met and held, Nicole felt a strange reaction, like a butterfly fluttering inside her belly.

  The Indian continued to gaze into her eyes, as though he was looking far into her soul. His look gave her a sudden, strange feeling of sensuality at the juncture of her thighs. She had never experienced such feelings before.

  It was an awakening of sorts, and it felt strangely delicious.

  Nicole wondered if these feelings were how a woman felt when she became attracted to a man. Up to now, her life had been too full with family and schooling responsibilities for her to consider having a man in her life.

  And she shouldn’t consider it now, especially not with this man. He was a redskin, an enemy to all whites.

  But how could she deny how marvelously handsome this Indian was, even while lying there so ill?

  He had such a beautifully sculpted face.

  And his eyes.

  Ah, how his eyes seemed to hypnotize her. They were so dark and penetrating, so beautiful.

  And then she could not help looking at his powerful chest and muscled arms, shoulders, and even his legs.

  She had never seen a man nude, not even her father, so she could not compare his body with others. But it did not take comparison for Nicole to know that this man was a perfect example of masculine beauty.

  She had to remind herself all over again that this was not just any man. He was an Indian. He was someone who was forbidden to her because his skin was copper and hers was white.

  But it was as though this man had her in some sort of mystical grip. He did not even need to hold her by the wrist anymore to keep her by his side.

  It was in the way his eyes spoke to her when she gazed into them.

  She had never allowed a man to look so deeply into her eyes, or…at…her! She always fled anyone who seemed unusually interested in her.

  Yet, strangely enough, she still knelt there, strangely hypnotized by the Indian.

  Eagle Wolf was not too ill to realize that he was powerfully attracted to this beautiful, petite, fiery-haired woman.

  Her skin was white, but her heart was golden, for she must know the danger of being so close to an Indian. He was sure she’d heard many tales about how devilish all Indians were.

  Yet there she was, risking everything in order to help him. He saw her as very courageous, and he was touched deeply by her kindness.

  But he felt that he was duty-bound to warn her that not all Indians were as peaceful as he.

  His people had suffered much at the hands of whites. It would matter not to most Indians that she was a delicate woman. All they would see about her was that she was white, an enemy.

  Many warriors would enjoy raping, then killing her, even taking her fiery red scalp to flaunt on a scalp pole.

  He had no such scalp pole. Nor did any other warrior of his Owl Clan.

  They were decent in everything they did. And they would never murder and th
en rape any woman.

  “You did not flee from this man with red skin,” Eagle Wolf said, his eyes searching hers. “You have helped this man who most whites see as an enemy. You have helped this Indian although you know the danger? Today, white woman, the danger is twofold for you. I have the killing disease that has been brought to Indian country by your people, and I am a man with red skin. Do you not fear both?”

  “I do not know much about Indians,” Nicole said softly, finding it oh, so strange to actually be talking with an Indian.

  Yet there she was and there he was.

  “All that I know of your people is what I have read in books,” Nicole said. “And as for the disease that has downed you? Few die from measles. I doubt that you will, either.”

  “You call this sickness by the strange name measles?” Eagle Wolf said, arching an eyebrow. “I am not familiar with…measles. I have the deadly disease that is known by the name smallpox.”

  Nicole’s eyes widened. “You think you have smallpox?” she asked, her gaze moving from red spot to red spot on his chest.

  “Is that not what it is called?” Eagle Wolf asked, again searching her eyes.

  “No. What you have is not smallpox,” Nicole said, certain she was right.

  “What is this thing you call measles?” he asked, gazing intently into her grass green eyes.

  “The red spots on your body prove that you have measles; the marks of smallpox look very different,” Nicole murmured.

  She was surprised that he knew the English language so well.

  “My people were told about the white man bringing the disease called smallpox to our country, sometimes purposely in order to kill off entire clans,” Eagle Wolf said dryly. “My wife died from the same disease that caused the red spots on my body. If this is named measles, then measles killed my wife. I, too, will surely die, and so will you.”

  “I know that I will not have measles again by coming in contact with you,” Nicole replied. “You cannot have measles more than once. I had it. And I am very sorry about your wife. Some do die from measles, but not many. The fever is surely what claimed her. Did your wife’s temperature go very high?”