by Bobbi Smith
Dream Warrior
Bobbi Smith
Copyright © 1993, 2018 by Bobbi Smith. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or distributed in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of The Evan Marshall Agency, 1 Pacio Court, Roseland, NJ 07068-1121, [email protected].
Version 1.0
Published by The Evan Marshall Agency. Originally published by Kensington Publishing Corp., New York.
This work is a novel. Any similarity to actual persons or events is purely coincidentally.
Cover by The Killion Group
bobbismithbooks.com
This book is dedicated to the memory of my father, James Smith.
I'd also like to offer a special note of thanks to the following people who have helped me so much during the writing of this book:
Evan Marshall, my agent, for his support and understanding.
Ann LaFarge, my editor, for her kindness and for believing in my work.
Rick Gee, my friend, and his mother knows why.
Pam Monck, lawyer and friend, for her help.
Terry Rau, for the inspiration.
And for Gwen Rice at the Wyoming State Library in Cheyenne for all her invaluable help with research.
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Epilogue
Prologue
Spring 1859
Dakota Territory
"Easy, boy." Gray Eyes, the eight-year-old, half-breed Cheyenne boy, spoke quietly as he approached the sleek young stallion he sought to tame. "Easy, Wild One."
It was almost dark, but Gray Eyes didn't notice. His concentration fierce and his expression determined, he closed in on the spirited black horse that had been a gift from his grandfather, Tall Shadow, the chief of the tribe. His grandfather had known how smart and independent the horse was and had offered to help train it, but Gray Eyes had turned him down. He was determined to break the stallion by himself.
Wild One was living up to his reputation for having a mind of his own. Gray Eyes had been working with the horse since early that morning, but had met with little success so far. Still, he refused to be discouraged. He wouldn't let the physical pain and exhaustion he felt or the other Cheyenne boys' mocking laughter stop him. He was going to master this horse, and once he did, it would be the finest mount in the tribe.
As Gray Eyes approached the stallion again, the horse rolled his eyes and laid back his ears as he sidled away. Tired though he was, the horse was just as stubborn as the boy and would continue this struggle for domination. He would not yield his freedom easily.
Driven by his burning need to succeed, Gray Eyes concentrated on mounting again. He'd learned early in life that he was different from the other boys and that the white man's blood that ran in his veins from his now-dead father had somehow tainted him. He'd always felt he'd had to earn their respect, and he'd done so with a vengeance, always working to be the best. It had become a way of life for him, and taming this horse would be no different from any of the other challenges he'd faced. Finally, ready to engage the battle once more, he grabbed Wild One's rein and vaulted onto his back, gripping the stallion tightly with his legs.
The stallion fought with all its strength. Desperate to dislodge the boy from its back, he twisted and turned, bucked and writhed. But no matter what the horse tried, the youth matched its efforts with equal fervor.
The battle for supremacy seemed endless to Gray Eyes. Every violent, jarring movement of the horse sent pain shooting through his already battered body, but he would not admit defeat, he would not give up. Hanging on for dear life, he suffered the stallion's severest test and somehow, ultimately won.
When the steed finally stood quivering beneath him, Gray Eyes let out a whoop of victory. The taunts of the other boys were forgotten. He had done it. He had conquered the proud stallion and made him his own! Gray Eyes held his head high as he rode the prancing Wild One. In his triumph, he looked every bit the future warrior.
Everyone heard his cry and came running. All eyes followed him as he guided the magnificent stallion through the village. His control of the animal earned the respect and approval of all, and they loudly praised his ability as he rode by.
Tall Shadow stood with his daughter, Gray Eyes's mother Morning Wind, watching his grandson. His black eyes shone with pride. "For one so young, your son has done a remarkable job. Few others could have tamed that one. Once again he has proven his worth."
"My son has always known his own worth," Morning Wind told him.
"He will be a fine warrior one day."
"I know," she replied, her smile fading a bit as her gaze followed her son.
"This does not please you?" Tall Shadow heard the note of reluctance in her tone and wondered at it.
"It saddens me that my son does not wish to learn more about his father." As much as Gray Eyes tried to be fully Cheyenne, there could be no denying his resemblance to his father, Jack Marshall. At the thought of her husband who'd died when their son was an infant, an intense longing filled Morning Wind. She deeply regretted that father and son had never gotten to know each other.
"There is no reason to worry. Gray Eyes will grow to be a good man. No father could ask more of his son."
Morning Wind fell silent. She knew her father believed what he was saying, but Gray Eyes was no ordinary Cheyenne boy. He was Jack Marshall's son, and she wanted him to be as proud of his white heritage as he was of his Cheyenne background. Jack had been a fair and honest man, respected by all in the tribe. She wanted Gray Eyes to hold his father in the same high esteem. In honor of his memory, she'd insisted her son take lessons from the missionary who came to their village. Gray Eyes resented the lessons, but she'd remained firm. She would not allow him to deny his father's existence.
Tall Shadow glanced at his daughter and saw the sadness in her eyes. "Your love for this man has never faded."
"No, Father, and it never will."
"There are many warriors who would have you for a wife."
"I want no other man to raise my husband's son."
"A boy needs a father."
"He has you. Who else could do a better job of bringing him to manhood?"
At that moment, Gray Eyes encouraged Wild One to rear as he let out a war cry. The horse pawed the air and then raced away with long, powerful strides as his master gave him his head. The other boys ran for their own mounts to give chase. Their shouts of praise for Gray Eyes's accomplishments filled Morning Wind's heart with joy.
Morning Wind couldn't help but smile again as she watched her son disappear over the hill. She knew in that moment that he would indeed grow to be a fine man. She only hoped that one day he would come to appreciate the ways of his father.
1861
Gray Eyes was weary. For five days now, the ten-year-old boy had survived alone in the wilderness as he'd searched and prayed for a vision from the heavens—a message that would show him the path he was to fo
llow for the rest of his life, a message that would give him the power he needed to become a brave and fearless warrior. But the days and nights had passed without the desired revelation, and despair had begun to grow within him. The fear that his father's blood was a curse upon him that would prevent him from fulfilling his vision quest tormented him. Many of his friends had already received their visions, some in as little time as a day. Yet here he was, still praying and still waiting.
Night came and swallowed the earth, and once again Gray Eyes was alone in the darkness. Settling down beneath the warmth of his blanket, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep. His last thought as he drifted off was that maybe the next day would bring the knowledge he so desperately sought.
The snarling sounds of the savage battle echoed through the night as the ravenous wolves battled the sleek, well-fed mountain lion. The lion was the intruder. For months now it had been stalking the wolves' land and preying upon their game. Food had grown scarce now, and winter would soon be upon them. To save themselves, the pack had to drive the powerful invader from their ancestral territory. There was no avoiding the confrontation any longer.
The mountain lion's pale fur shone white in the moonlight as it fended off its desperate assailants. The monster cat had claimed this land by right of might and would not give it up. With deadly accuracy, the lion struck blow after bloody blow. His defense against the pack proved lethal as he inflicted mortal wounds against the all-but-conquered wolves.
Though bloodied and nearing death, the pack did not, could not, retreat. Starvation drove them as they continued to attack the greedy beast that had stolen by brute force all that was theirs. There would be no honor in retreat; there would be only death.
Driven by hunger, the wolf warriors moved in closer. The largest of the pack was crouched low, ready to leap for the lion's throat when a haunting howl echoed in the distance. It was an eerie sound unlike any they'd heard before—a call that expressed without words the agony of their souls.
Wolves and mountain lion paused to scan the jagged cliffs around them, searching for the one whose cry had stopped the fighting. They caught sight of him then and stared in awe at the mighty wolf standing high above them on a narrow, rocky outcropping. His head was thrown back as he howled his haunting song, and his coat glowed like silver fire.
As if aware that the bloodshed had stopped, the silver wolf turned his shining eyes to the scene below. Making his way fearlessly down from the heights, he moved to stand between his kind and their sworn enemy. Time seemed to stand still. The pack felt the peace of his presence and slipped away into the night.
The lion remained, alone with the silver wolf. It eyed him cautiously, then sensing no threat and believing its power now uncontested, it let out a roar of victory before turning its back and bounding away.
The carnage ended, the silver one returned to the ledge, surveying the land below. From on high he could see that peace reigned—for now. There would be no more deaths that night, and in celebration, he threw back his head and gave vent to the thankful song in his heart.
As if drawn by the silver wolf's call, another wolf, a female, appeared in the clearing. Her coat, too, was the color of moonbeams. She saw the silver peacemaker and climbed to him. Coming to his side, she joined in his haunting song, her voice blending with his in the night.
Across the valley in his small, secluded encampment, Gray Eyes watched and listened. He'd been awakened by the sounds of the fight, and excitement had filled him as he'd realized what he was seeing. Though he was only half Cheyenne, his heart was true and his motives were pure. His white blood had not cursed him. He'd been given that which he'd sought. He'd been given his vision.
Gray Eyes faced to the east and began to pray. His prayers of thanksgiving were fervent and lasted throughout the night. When at last sunlight erased all vestiges of darkness and fear from the land he loved, he stood and lifted his arms to the heavens. Calling out in a loud, strong voice, Gray Eyes declared, "I am Silver Wolf!"
As if destiny intended it, a wolf's cry echoed back to him from across the valley.
Silver Wolf gathered his belongings and began the long trek back to his village. When he'd begun his quest, he'd been a boy, with conflicts in his soul that had haunted him. Now, as he returned to the village, he was a man—a man at peace with himself.
One
1865
It was a dark night, and on the McCord Ranch, the Circle M, all was quiet—all except eight-year-old Carinne McCord. The blond-haired, blue-eyed Cari was filled with childish excitement as she lay wide-awake in her bed. It had been raining all day, a miserable, chilling drizzle, but just at dusk, her father had observed that the wind had shifted and was now blowing out of the northwest. He'd said that it might snow, and the prospect had left Cari sleepless. The thought of playing in the snow thrilled her, and she'd lain awake long after her father and mother had fallen asleep, imagining the good times she was going to have if it did.
Tossing and turning, Cari was beginning to believe that the night was never going to end. It seemed she'd been lying there forever. Eager to know if her father's prediction was coming true, the adventurous young girl just couldn't stay in bed any longer. She got up and tiptoed barefoot across the icy, wood-plank floor to the window.
Cari's eyes widened at the sight that greeted her, and she could hardly contain her joy. Snow blanketed the countryside in a mantle of pure white. Big, fluffy flakes were still falling, and Cari realized that it must have been snowing very hard for it to be so deep already.
Creeping to her bedroom doorway, she glanced toward her parents' room and wondered if she should wake them to tell them of her wonderful discovery. After only a second's consideration, she decided against it, for it was late and she was certain they would send her back to bed until morning. She wanted to play, not sleep. This was the first snowfall of the season!
Determined to have her own way, Cari hurried to don her slippers and then pulled on her coat over her flannel nightgown. She was very careful to move quietly as she rushed to escape the confines of the house, for she didn't want to risk waking her parents.
The wind was biting as she stepped outside on the front porch and closed the door behind her, but she was so excited she didn't feel it. With carefree spirit, she ran, skipping and dancing, across the yard, twirling joyously about, laughing in pure delight.
Barnie, the big, year-old dog the family called both guard and pet, heard the sounds of Cari's laughter, and rose from her safe haven under the porch to investigate. At the sight of the child playing in the snow, she loped over to frolic with her.
"Barnie!" Cari threw her arms about the dog's neck and gave her a hug. The dog was her best friend, and she was glad for her company. "Come on!"
Leading the way, Cari ran in circles with Barnie following her, their tracks drawing designs in the snow. Though the icy fluff found its way into her slippers, she paid it no mind.
Enchanted by the night, the child ventured farther away from the house than she normally would have, exploring with Barnie by her side. She passed the ranch's outbuildings and only stopped when she came to the steep gully some distance away. A small creek ran at the bottom of the hill. During the warm weather it was one of Cari's favorite places to play. Eager to see the creek in the snow, she edged closer to the drop-off. The dog whined as if to warn her away, but Cari was determined to listen for the sounds of the babbling brook below.
"I can hear it, Barnie. I bet it's pretty down there. Let's go see." Cari meant to walk down the hillside as she always did, but the rain that had fallen earlier had turned to ice beneath the snow and footing was treacherous. Once on the slope, she couldn't stop herself from falling. She slid all the way down the hill, landing in the frigid, rushing water of the creek. Her coat had protected her from any real battering during her fall, but she was still stunned by the shock of her descent.
The dog sensed Cari was in trouble and followed her. When she reached the bottom, Barnie scrambled to hov
er protectively over the child. When Cari didn't get right up, Barnie grabbed her coat sleeve in her powerful jaws and dragged her up the bank, out of the numbing water.
"Barnie . . . I'm so cold!" Cari gasped as she began to shiver. The sodden weight of her clinging coat and gown chilled her to the bone. "We've gotta go home . . ." she whispered through chattering teeth as she stood. Only then did she notice that she'd lost her slippers in the fall and that they were floating on down the stream.
Knowing there was no point in going after them, Cari tried to climb back up the slope. She wanted to go home and get dry and warm. To her horror, though, Cari discovered she couldn't make it up the hill.
"Barnie, go get Papa! Go on! Get help!"
The dog understood the command, but even her four-footed attempts to claw her way up the icy incline proved futile. She returned to Cari's side, panting from the exertion.
Cari looked around in desperation for a way out. There were a few trees growing on the hillside, but they were out of reach. No matter how she tried, she couldn't reach high enough to grab hold of one.
"Mother! Papa!" she cried into the night, but in her heart she knew her parents were sound asleep and wouldn't hear her. Tears coursed down her cheeks as fear filled her heart. She was stranded in the frigid darkness!
Growing frantic, Cari looked around for a solution. She'd never wandered far downstream and wasn't sure where it led, but she decided to follow its winding path and hopefully find a lower spot where she and Barnie could get their footing and climb out to safety. The pain from her bare feet was agonizing as she hurried, limping, downstream.
They'd walked over half a mile along the twisting course of the creek before Cari finally found a place where the trees grew closer to the water's edge. Using the low-hanging branches for leverage, she managed to pull herself part of the way out of the gully before once again losing her footing and sliding back down. Her efforts grew weaker as cold and exhaustion overtook her. Cari tried to get back up and make another attempt, but this time her numb legs would not hold her. She collapsed on the bank of the stream.