Sunflower

by Jill Marie Landis

  “How much farther is it?”

  “A couple of miles.” He pointed up ahead. “Do you see that low ridge of hills? Zach should have the men scattered just behind the rocks and trees at their base. We’re going to meet Hardy in the open, and we’re going to stay in sight of the men. Once Hardy pays me off, I’ll let him lead you a few feet away before I signal Williamson.” He reached out to caress Analisa’s cheek. His touch was warm and gentle and matched the blue fire blazing in his eyes.

  “All set?” Caleb asked.

  “Ja. It will be the first time I see you arrest a criminal.”

  “And the last.”

  “Maybe.”

  He signaled Scorpio with a slight movement of his knees, and the horse lunged forward, pulling Analisa’s and Ruth’s mounts along behind. They covered the two miles of open ground in no time at all, and before Analisa could even think of becoming frightened they had arrived at the meeting site. As they neared the low hills that rose from the open plain like lazy giant buffalo, Analisa could see Hardy’s squat, rotund figure seated on his mount in the center of a small grove of trees. Two of his men were beside him. Beyond him, large boulders and rocks lined the sides of the low hills. Smaller, gnarled trees clung to the rocky ground, their roots like twisted fingers clutching for a hold in the soil. She glanced up quickly, searching for some sign of the men hidden there. She saw nothing that even hinted at their presence.

  While they approached Hardy she kept her eyes downcast and tossed her head forward, letting the hideous orange hair partly cover her face. She was unable to watch Hardy as he rode forward to meet them, but tried instead to steal glances at his two companions. They were his Indian police, dressed in dark blue coats adorned with an array of shining brass buttons and epaulets. Their legs were bare beneath the hems of the coats, and they wore long white loincloths and ankle-high beaded moccasins. One cradled a rifle in the crook of his arm while the other rested his upright, the stock against his knee.

  The men reined in their mounts as the parties met and remained on horseback. Analisa turned around to see how Ruth had survived the ride. Ruth’s face was now streaked with dirt and sweat, which enhanced her disguise. At the sound of Hardy’s voice Analisa turned around again, keeping her head bowed. She told herself that in a very few minutes it would all be over.

  “I brought two women. Did you bring the gold, Agent?” As Caleb spoke, he held his own rifle ready, the barrel aimed casually at Hardy.

  The man chose not to answer Caleb, but instead drew a bag of coins up by its rawhide drawstrings from where it hung over the pommel of his saddle. He tossed it at Caleb, who caught it deftly with his free hand. He weighed it in his palm and then loosened the ties with his teeth.

  He addressed Hardy in broken English.

  “Plenty gold in here, Agent. I’ll make trade.”

  “Where’d you pick ‘em up?” Hardy nodded toward the silent women.

  Analisa listened to the exchange and wondered if they should be sitting like cattle awaiting their fate or arguing with the men. After all, she thought, if she were truly being sold to the agent she would indeed protest rather than sit idly by and watch the exchange.

  Ruth must have had the same notion, for Analisa heard her cry out to Hardy in a tight voice, “My family will pay whatever you ask if you’ll only write to them!” Theatrical sobbing rode on the air behind Analisa.

  Hardy spared her barely a glance filled with disdain and prodded Caleb again. “I said, where’d you pick ‘em up, boy?”

  Analisa watched her husband’s fingers tighten around the lead rope.

  “Near Fort Randall.”

  “How long ago?”

  “Three, maybe four days.”

  “Funny,” Hardy mused, “I haven’t had word of any raids around there. Place would be buzzin’ with news by now if anyone was missin’ these women.”

  “One don’t speak English. The old one talks too much.” Caleb spoke loud enough for the women to hear his words.

  A sudden gust of wind swirled the dust around the horses’ hooves. Analisa pulled the shirt tight around her and noted the darkness that crept over the hills. Giant, splashing droplets began to fall around them. They slapped against the backs of her hands as she held the horse’s reins.

  “If you’re satisfied with the gold,” Hardy said, “I’ll take the women now. I don’t relish getting soaked.”

  He signaled one of his men with a wave of his hand, and the man rode forward to take the lead rope from Caleb. Without even inspecting the merchandise he’d purchased, Hardy rode past the women. The Indian tugged on the lead rope as he passed by, and the women’s mounts wheeled around to follow. Hardy’s second companion followed behind Ruth.

  They hadn’t gone ten yards before Caleb called out, “Hardy!”

  At the new, commanding tone in Caleb’s voice, Hardy drew his horse to a halt and half turned in his saddle. Sensing danger, he signed to his men, who swiftly turned their rifles on Caleb. Analisa’s heart stopped as she sat frozen and watched the exchange.

  “I wouldn’t try it, Hardy.” Caleb’s clear, concise English rang out above the gathering storm. “I’ve got the barrel of this rifle aimed at your gut. Even if your men get off a shot you’ll be dead before I am. I’m placing you under arrest in the name of the United States government.” Caleb rode toward them, his eyes locked with Hardy’s. The man made no move to comply.

  “Tell them to drop the guns, Hardy.”

  Buff Hardy stared at Caleb, his face flushed with color, his rat’s eyes skimming from Caleb to the women and back again.

  “If my word’s not good enough for you, maybe you’d better take a look over there.” Caleb nodded toward the hills, but never took his eyes off the agent.

  A few yards away, men in army uniforms dotted the hillside, advancing with rifles at the ready. Analisa recognized Tor and Frank Williamson at once, for they were much taller than the others. Zach was riding forward, leading a string of horses, as the men ran down the hill dodging boulders and trees.

  “You can’t prove anything,” Hardy blustered.

  “I have a bag of gold that says I can. Tell them to drop the guns.” Then, without waiting for Hardy’s command, Caleb spoke rapidly to Hardy’s policemen in Sioux. They lowered their rifles, and the elder of the two answered. His words seemed to reassure Caleb. When she saw that Caleb no longer pressed the men to drop their guns, Analisa knew they had agreed to cooperate with him. They cradled the rifles and moved away from Hardy. The man holding the lead rope to Analisa’s and Ruth’s mounts dropped it as he maneuvered his horse away from the agent’s.

  Rain pelted them now, falling in steady streams. Analisa wiped the hair away from her eyes and then stared at the palm of her hand. The henna ran rust red, staining her fingers and dripping on her bodice and skirt. She tugged on the lead rope connected to her own bridle and pulled Ruth’s mule up beside her.

  “Dismount, Hardy!” Caleb shouted over the increasing sound of the wind and rain before he sprang to the ground.

  Zach arrived and shouldered his horse between Analisa’s and Scorpio, keeping a wary eye on Hardy. Analisa was thankful for his presence and let herself relax somewhat, the first time since they had left the fort.

  “We did it!” Ruth called out to her.

  Hardy stood on the ground now, his lips clamped in a tight line, refusing to speak to anyone. Caleb was tying the agent’s hands behind him, all the while grimly listing the man’s offenses.

  “... and if that’s not enough, Hardy, we’re going to prosecute you for the murder of a BIA agent, one Chuck Reynolds, missing for nearly two years.”

  “Try it.” The man fairly spat the words at Caleb.

  “We intend to.”

  “Looks like we’ve got trouble comin’,” Zach called to Caleb and pointed toward the north.

  A mounted band of Sioux was fast approaching the group. Five riders were bearing down upon them. Analisa motioned to Ruth, who watched with wide-eyed fascinat
ion as the group thundered closer. All of them were armed with rifles or long lances decorated with feathers. A woman rode at the front of the riders beside the leader, her long hair plaited into two braids, her legs exposed to the thigh as she sat astride her horse. They seemed oblivious to the pouring rain that turned the ground to mud beneath their horses’ hooves.

  The soldiers, still on foot, surrounded Caleb, Buff Hardy, and the two women, and raised their rifles in readiness. Analisa had nowhere to run, trapped as she was by the troops around them. She looked to the right and saw Frank Williamson. Their eyes met, and he motioned to her as he stepped away from the man beside him. The opening he left for her was just wide enough for the horses to pass through. She glanced back at the approaching Sioux, then at Caleb who had yet to react at all.

  “Hold your fire,” Caleb called out in a low voice, and Frank Williamson repeated the command to his men as he shouldered his way toward Caleb.

  “Red Dog?” the major asked when he reached Caleb’s side.

  “Yes. Have your men stay calm. We don’t want an all-out war on our hands.”

  As Caleb spoke, Analisa looked up and recognized the young Sioux chief riding beside the woman. The picture was a striking one. The woman sat her horse as regally as the man, her dark eyes burning with undisguised hatred. Even the impulsive young leader, Red Dog, appeared less hostile than his female companion. Recognizing her suddenly as Mia, Hardy’s maid, Analisa remembered all that Caleb had told her concerning his own part in the woman’s rescue. Mia looked far different riding beside Red Dog than she had in the ostentatious surroundings of Hardy’s house. She radiated such power that Analisa could not take her eyes off the girl.

  Ruth leaned close to Analisa and asked in a voice barely above a whisper, “Who is she?”

  “Red Dog’s woman. She was Hardy’s ... slave.” There was no other way Analisa could explain the girl’s relationship to the agent. Ruth understood immediately.

  “She’s magnificent,” Ruth commented.

  Analisa nodded, wiped the streaming rainwater from her eyes, and watched as the gap between the two parties lessened.

  The Sioux showed no signs of hostility. Their rifles remained lowered, their lances pointed toward the sky as they reined in to face the men.

  Red Dog called out to Caleb in Sioux. Zach translated rapidly for the others.

  “Raven’s Shadow. You have the man Hardy. I claim him.”

  Caleb did not move away from Hardy but spoke to the young renegade from where he stood. His voice was strong enough to carry above the wind and rain without shouting.

  “I have come from Washington. Even there we have heard of this man’s crimes. I was sent here to make peace with you and your people, to be sure that the Sioux were given the goods promised by Washington. Hardy must be taken back to the East to face the high chiefs of the government. They will deal with him. All of the people must be made aware of his crimes.”

  Red Dog stared down at Caleb, his expression scornful. “The white man’s justice is not good enough. We, the Sioux, are entitled to this man.”

  Analisa looked at Caleb. He had not moved, had not looked away from Red Dog’s stare. His hands remained at his sides. As far as she could see, he was determined not to relinquish Hardy to the Sioux leader.

  “You will have to take him from me, Red Dog.”

  As Zach’s translation died on the wind, Analisa gasped, her eyes riveted on the tall warrior whose fury was so evident in his flashing eyes. Still he did not move as Caleb continued.

  “Know that if you try, more will die here today, men of both sides, fighting over a man who is not worth the loss of even one life. I swear to you on my own life, on my honor, that he will be brought to justice. I ask you to trust me.”

  All was silent until thunder crashed in the distance. Red Dog stared at Caleb, who stood unwavering. Rain streamed from his hair. His clothing was soaked and plastered to his skin. The soldiers in blue were frozen in poses of readiness, their fingers poised on the slippery triggers of their rifles. Ruth’s mule skittered nervously, nudging the side of Analisa’s mount. To Analisa the entire scene seemed to have been captured in time; it was real and yet unreal, like the images in a photograph.

  Caleb spoke again, his words echoed in English as Zach translated.

  “Hardy will be replaced here by an agent who will deal fairly with all Sioux who sign a new treaty and agree to come into the agency.”

  “Another like him will come,” Red Dog said.

  “I give my word, the new agent will be an honest man.”

  “The word of a half-breed. The word of one who sought to deceive us. I was never fooled by you, Raven’s Shadow. I knew you were not what you claimed.”

  “I had to find proof the white judges would believe. Now I have Hardy, and he will stand trial in Washington. It is time the fighting and running stopped, Red Dog. Your people need food. They want peace. At least try it.”

  Red Dog sat deep in thought. Analisa sensed that the young man wanted to believe Caleb, and she could guess what a weight he had to bear, with the responsibility of so many on his shoulders. She glanced at Mia and saw the dark hatred that burned in the woman’s eyes as she looked at Hardy. The Sioux woman sat rigid, her eyes feverish with revenge. The men’s attention was riveted on Caleb and Red Dog. Hardy stood all but ignored while his fate hung in the balance.

  As Analisa stared at Mia she sensed a change in the woman’s expression; the slightest, almost imperceptible hint of a smile teased the girl’s lips. A cruel smile, a smile of death. Mia’s hand moved stealthily toward her waist. No one else moved, or noticed. Analisa watched in disbelief as the girl drew a small revolver from her beaded belt.

  “Caleb!”

  Analisa’s scream rang out a heartbeat before the gunshot rent the air around them. The Indian ponies pawed the earth, and Analisa’s own horse jerked its head up with a start. She clung to the reins as she fought to maintain control. When she looked up again, chaos reigned around her. A stray shot echoed on the air, and Major Williamson called out, “Hold your fire!” Ruth shouted something Analisa could not understand above the uproar.

  Red Dog held Mia against him, her wrist in his grasp as he forced her to let go of the gun. Analisa turned away from them, fully expecting to see Hardy lying in the mud. Instead, Caleb lay near the hooves of Zach’s horse. Hardy stood rooted to the spot, having narrowly escaped death when Caleb stepped into the bullet’s path.

  Analisa tried to dismount but only succeeded in catching the toe of one oversize shoe in the hem of her skirt. She tripped forward and over, half jumping, half sliding into the mud. Wiping her muddied hands on her skirt, she pushed her way past the crowd gathering around her husband. Her mind was blank, no sound issuing from her lips as she hurried to Caleb. Frank Williamson rose from where he bent over Caleb’s silent form, his emerald eyes haunted and searching as they met hers.

  “My God, Analisa. He’s dead.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Moving like a sleepwalker, Analisa brushed past Frank Williamson’s outstretched hands toward her fallen husband. Kneeling at his side, her senses numbed by the shock of the major’s pronouncement, Analisa was oblivious of the mud and the steadily falling rain. She barely heard the voices shouting around her. All she saw was Caleb. Her heart pounded out the echo of Williamson’s words. He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead.

  “Elliot, make certain none of those people leave!” the major demanded. In rapid-fire Sioux, Zach began to speak to Red Dog’s men who sat in stony silence.

  “Hays. Riley. Get the prisoner mounted and ready to ride. I want no less than four of you around him at all times.”

  Analisa became aware of a presence beside her and looked over to find Ruth kneeling nearby, staring down at Caleb, one hand pressed against her throat. When her eyes met Analisa’s, Ruth shook her head in disbelief and then covered her face with her hands.

  Still refusing to believe what was happening around her, Analisa looked
at Caleb once again. Blood covered almost the entire right side of his buckskin shirt. The steady rain did little to wash it away, and only served to spread the oozing red stain and carry it dripping into the mud. Caleb’s usual high color was now ghostly, his vibrant eyes closed.

  As Analisa stared at him, she noticed that his every feature seemed to stand out, one against the other. The thick black lashes were spiked by raindrops and looked like detailed crescents where they rested on his cheeks. His finely tapered nose and full, even lips gave him the appearance of a stone statue. She reached out with shaking fingers to touch him, fully expecting his skin to feel as cold and lifeless as he appeared. The fingertips of her right hand touched his cheek, and she slid them up to caress his face with her palm. His skin felt warm, a sharp contrast to her own cold, wet fingertips.

  She watched his eyelids flutter open, and shock waves echoed through her as his deep blue eyes unerringly connected with her own. He did not speak or try to move.

  “Oh, Caleb!”

  At her joyous whisper, Ruth glanced up, startled, in time to see Caleb’s eyes close once again.

  “My God, Analisa! He’s alive.” She pressed her hands to Caleb’s throat and found his pulse before she continued in a strained voice, “But he won’t be for long if we don’t hurry.”

  Analisa stood and, without even a hesitant glance at the men around her, lifted up the skirt of the worn yellow calico and pulled off her petticoat. Avoiding as much of the muddied front as possible, she folded the white material in a great wad and leaned over Caleb once again. As she did, she called out to Zach who immediately dismounted and joined her.

  “Cut his shirt open,” she demanded and watched as the scout quickly obliged.

  Analisa saw the full extent of Caleb’s wound for the first time. A small hole pierced his right side between shoulder and chest. She promptly but gently pressed the wadded cotton petticoat against his wound and then drew the stained buckskin shirt across it.

  “Hold this,” she instructed Ruth. She rose from her knees to stand tall against the gray sky, her hair plastered down by the rain, her dress muddied from knee to ankle, hands clenched at her sides. Analisa called out to Frank Williamson who stood holding the reins of Hardy’s horse as the main body of the detail mounted. Red Dog and his band watched in silence, the Indian leader’s face set, an unreadable mask. Six soldiers began the journey to Sully, Hardy sheltered between them.