Savage Arrow

by Cassie Edwards

  She questioned him with her eyes, again wondering why he was delaying closing up the cave. But she knew that it was not her place to question his decisions about anything. And she was deeply touched by his concern about her baby.

  “You understand why I do not wish you to come, do you not?” Thunder Horse asked, searching her eyes. “You must reserve your strength for the long journey ahead. Stay here with my warriors, and I will return soon.”

  She was still curious to know what his plans were, but again sensed it was not her place to ask him. She knew it was important to do as he asked since he had made the request in front of his warriors.

  “Yes, I see why I shouldn’t go with you,” Jessie said. She flung herself into his arms and clung to him. “Thunder Horse, please be careful.”

  “I will be gone for only a short while,” he said, holding her close. “But then I will have to leave again.”

  “Where are you going now?” she asked, her eyes now looking into his.

  “To your cousin’s house,” he said.

  She could hardly control the shiver that raced up and down her spine, for she knew that Reginald was soon to reap what he had sown. This time he would not suffer mere nightmares.

  “And . . . then . . . ?” she murmured, swallowing hard. “Are . . . you . . . going to find the outlaws’ hideout?”

  He nodded. “I cannot leave anything to chance,” he said thickly. “All who had a role in today’s attack must die.”

  Again shivers raced up and down Jessie’s spine.

  She gave him a last hug, then stepped away from him.

  A warrior brought Thunder Horse’s horse to him. Another handed him the quiver of arrows they had brought from his lodge, and his huge, powerful bow.

  Jessie looked at the deadly arrows and knew that today they would be savage arrows, used to avenge those who had died.

  She didn’t want to envision her cousin dying in such a way. Yet she knew he deserved whatever happened to him today.

  As Thunder Horse and his warriors rode away at a hard gallop, Jessie replayed scenes of her past inside her mind . . . moments when she had enjoyed Reginald’s company and loved him as a cousin.

  It was hard to remember that time, though. More recent ugliness kept getting in the way.

  She sat down on the ground, but the warriors who had been left behind to guard the cave stood stoic and silent, their eyes ever watchful as they scanned the land around them.

  At loose ends in his empty house, Reginald had come out to check his horses, taking the time to brush his favorite steed. He stepped out of the stable, then stopped stock still.

  The blood drained from his face when he found Thunder Horse standing there, blocking his way, an arrow notched on his bowstring.

  “You! . . .” Reginald gasped, taking a step back from Thunder Horse.

  Then several warriors came up from behind the stable on their steeds, their bowstrings also notched with arrows.

  “What do you want with me?” Reginald cried, beginning to wheeze almost uncontrollably. “Get out of here, you . . . you savages. You are on private property.”

  “Property paid for by the silver that came from my people’s sacred cave. I believe that makes it our land, not yours,” Thunder Horse said, holding his bow and arrow steady, the arrow aimed for Reginald’s belly. “Get a rope from your stable. Bring it out to me.”

  “Why?” Reginald asked, pale as a ghost as he stared slowly around at the many arrows aimed at him.

  He gazed into Thunder Horse’s eyes again. “What did I do?” he gulped out.

  “You know the answer without my saying it,” Thunder Horse replied, then nodded at Reginald. “You get the rope. Now!”

  “What are you going to do with it?” Reginald asked, again wheezing hard. “Are you . . . going . . . to hang me?”

  “No, nothing like that,” Thunder Horse said, smiling slowly at Reginald. “I have something better in mind.”

  “You . . . do?” Reginald gulped out. “Oh, Lord. What?”

  “Get . . . the . . . rope,” Thunder Horse said, his patience growing thin. “Now, wasichu.”

  “What did you call me?” Reginald said, taking slow steps backward into the stable.

  “White man,” Thunder Horse said, again smiling slowly. He dismounted. “Wasichu, bring me the rope.”

  Reginald began sobbing. “I don’t want to,” he cried. “Please don’t make me.”

  Thunder Horse nodded toward one of his warriors. “Get the rope for me,” he said.

  He looked back at Reginald as the warrior went inside the stable and came out with a rope.

  “Tie it around this man’s neck,” Thunder Horse ordered.

  “I thought you said you weren’t going to hang me,” Reginald cried, his eyes wide behind his thick-lensed glasses.

  “I am not going to hang you,” Thunder Horse said flatly.

  Thunder Horse waited for the rope to be secured around Reginald’s neck, then took it when the warrior brought it to him. Thunder Horse slung his bow over his right shoulder and placed his arrow back inside his quiver. Then he took the end of the rope and tied it to the back part of his saddle, leaving a good length of it stretched out between Reginald and the horse.

  Reginald was clawing at the rope as Thunder Horse mounted his steed. “It’s choking me,” he cried. “Please remove it.”

  “Soon,” Thunder Horse said, slapping his reins against his steed and riding away from Reginald’s stable with his warriors following behind, leaving a space where Reginald was forced to walk.

  “Where are you taking me and why?” Reginald screamed, still trying to pull the rope from around his neck, but not succeeding.

  “You will soon see,” Thunder Horse said, moving slightly faster, so Reginald was forced to run behind him.

  They rode onward and onward until the cave came into view where the two warriors still stood vigil. Jessie was standing and looking toward the sound of horses approaching.

  “The cave!” Reginald cried. “Oh, Lord, please don’t take me to that cave!”

  Thunder Horse only smiled slyly over his shoulder at Reginald, then rode onward until they finally stopped directly in front of the cave’s entrance.

  Jessie’s eyes were wide when she saw Reginald tied behind the horse, with blood seeping from a raw wound on his neck where the tight rope had rubbed while Reginald was forced to run behind Thunder Horse’s steed.

  When he saw her there, he gaped at her, then frowned. “You’ve turned into a savage squaw! How could you let savages do this to your very own blood kin?” he growled, crying out when Thunder Horse yanked hard on the rope to shut him up.

  Thunder Horse dismounted, then went and stood beside Reginald. “You have been brought here for one final act of vengeance, and then you will never see me again,” he said sternly.

  “Thank the Lord,” Reginald said as Thunder Horse untied the rope and yanked it away from Reginald.

  Reginald wiped his sore neck. Then Thunder Horse’s words sank in.

  “What . . . final . . . act?” he gulped, his eyes pleading with Thunder Horse. “What are you going to do with me . . . and again . . . why? Why are you so angry?”

  “One of the outlaws who attacked my people was killed,” Thunder Horse said thickly. “The others left the fallen white man behind. He had enough breath in him to tell us who came and killed today, and by whose orders.”

  Thunder Horse leaned into Reginald’s face. “You are the one who sent the outlaws into my village,” he said tightly. “You even thought Jessie would be killed, too, didn’t you? You hate her so much that you would want her dead!”

  Jessie paled. She hadn’t even thought about that . . . that Reginald had wanted her to die in the midst of the massacre!

  “Oh, Reggie,” she cried, covering her mouth with a hand.

  “I told you never to call me Reggie again!” he shouted. “And, yes, I wanted you to die! You went against your own blood kin by taking sides with Injuns. You’
re no better than those savages, Jessie.” He grimaced as his eyes moved over her. “You are even dressed like one.”

  He frowned at her again. “You make me want to vomit,” he said, visibly shuddering. “My own flesh and blood.”

  Jessie didn’t say anything. She didn’t know what to say, for this man standing before her surely wasn’t blood kin to her. He was nothing but a villain!

  She slowly shook her head, then stepped farther away when Thunder Horse grabbed Reginald by the throat and forced him to the cave entrance.

  “What . . . are . . . you doing?” Reginald shrieked, his eyes wild.

  Thunder Horse purposely knocked Reginald’s glasses off. “You will need those no longer,” he said, grinding the heel of his moccasin into the glasses.

  “No!” Reginald cried. “I can’t see a thing now. Why? Why would you do that?”

  “Where you are going you will not need eyes,” Thunder Horse said flatly.

  “What . . . do . . . you mean?” Reginald gulped out, squinting as he tried to see Thunder Horse’s face.

  “You will soon understand,” Thunder Horse said.

  “Please tell me what you’re going to do,” Reginald cried, tears pouring from his eyes. “I’m sorry for everything I did. Please forgive me. I promise never to cause you trouble again.”

  “It is too late for words, especially words that are empty and mean nothing,” Thunder Horse said. He glared into Reginald’s eyes. “In the world of the Sioux, it is said that whatever a man steals in this world, he will be compelled to carry into the next. In other words, you, who are a notorious thief in the eyes of the Sioux, will have a heavy load to carry in the after-world. Your load will be heavier than that of most criminals, for you are responsible for so many wrongful deeds against my people.”

  “Oh, Lord, no,” Reginald said, then cried out in a strangled voice when Thunder Horse took him by the arm and pulled him into the cave.

  “Here you will stay for eternity,” Thunder Horse said, giving Reginald a shove and causing him to fall to his knees.

  “Lord, no, you can’t do this!” Reginald whimpered, scrambling to his feet.

  He tried to leave the cave, but Thunder Horse hurriedly ordered his warriors to help him roll the huge boulder in place, stopping Reginald, but not his screams for mercy. His muffled cries could still be heard even after the cave entrance was completely blocked.

  Jessie was shocked by what was happening, yet understood why Thunder Horse had chosen to avenge his people’s deaths in such a way.

  It would be the worst possible death for Reginald, to be entombed forever among the spirits of the Sioux whom he had wronged.

  A strange sort of silence emanated from the other side of the boulder, then a sudden bloodcurdling cry . . . and again silence.

  Jessie looked quickly at Thunder Horse.

  He gazed into her eyes. “It is over, finally over,” he said thickly. “Reginald Vineyard will never again work his evil against anyone.”

  He raised his face to the sky, and his voice seemed to reach beyond the clouds as he cried, “It is done!”

  Jessie was still numb from what had happened. She didn’t ask what had transpired inside the cave. She didn’t want to know.

  They all mounted their steeds and left the cave, Jessie riding beside Thunder Horse.

  They returned to the village to mourn and prepare the dead for burial. The preparations had to be quick, with solemn, hurried ceremonies.

  Lone Wing knew that he had duties to perform, those of his people’s Historian. His first assignment was to record on buckskin what had happened today to those beloved people who would no longer hear the laughter of the young, who could no longer smoke their long-stemmed pipes as they sat around the fires of their people.

  It was a bad day, one that no one would ever forget.

  Later, after the burials, while final preparations were being made for the long journey ahead, Thunder Horse came to Jessie and embraced her. “I have one more thing to do before leaving for the Dakotas,” he said tightly. “I must make the outlaws who murdered my people pay for their deed.”

  Although Jessie would like nothing more than to know that the man who’d killed her father and so many others was dead, she was afraid for Thunder Horse to go.

  She was afraid that he wouldn’t return!

  “Please don’t go,” she said, her voice breaking as she gazed into his eyes. “Let it alone. Reginald, the one who set everything in motion, is dead. Were it not for him, those who died today would not have died.”

  “It must be done,” Thunder Horse said, his eyes narrowing. “I cannot let my people down again, or I will feel I am not worthy of being their chief.”

  Trying to understand, Jessie moved tenderly into Thunder Horse’s embrace. “If I lost you, I would not want to live,” she sobbed. “Please, oh, please come back to me . . . come back to your people.”

  “I have many reasons to come back, so I assure you that I will,” Thunder Horse said. He stepped away from her and joined his warriors, who were streaking their faces and bare chests with black paint . . . black, the color used for warring!

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Jessie was trying to be brave as she waited for Thunder Horse’s return, but she couldn’t help being terribly afraid for him. Bulldog Jones was one of the worst, most notorious outlaws in history.

  Though her father had been linked with Bulldog Jones, he had convinced her that he had been a very different kind of outlaw. He had told her, after she’d heard about his past, that he had tried to use his skills with his gun to do good.

  He had said that was why Bulldog Jones had eventually gunned him down. After his separation from her father, the notorious outlaw had realized that all along Two Guns Pete had been duping him. Though he had pretended to be vicious in front of Bulldog Jones, in truth he had helped the families who were affected by Bulldog Jones’s reign of terror.

  Of course, Jessie had not known if that tale was true or not. It was possible her father had made up the story of being a “good outlaw” in order to save face with her.

  The fact remained that it was Bulldog Jones who’d killed her father and mother. She would never know for certain what had motivated him to kill her parents, or just what had transpired between him and her father.

  And now, her beloved Thunder Horse, the man she wanted to live out her life with, was going up against the same red-whiskered villain who had claimed her parents’ lives. She couldn’t help being afraid that Bulldog Jones would get the best of Thunder Horse and his warriors.

  “I can tell by the look in your eyes that you are afraid for my uncle,” Lone Wing said as he came to sit next to her.

  Jade and Lee-Lee were napping before the start of the long journey. Sweet Willow and many of Thunder Horse’s people were also resting.

  Everything was packed on horses and travois, awaiting Thunder Horse’s return. As soon as he and the warriors arrived home, the journey would begin.

  “Jessie?”

  Lone Wing’s voice brought her out of her reverie. “I’m sorry, Lone Wing,” she murmured. “What did you say?”

  “I came to reassure you about my uncle and those who ride with him today,” he said softly, so as not to awaken those who slept. “No one can best him, not even the most notorious of outlaws.”

  “But Thunder Horse isn’t a warring chief,” Jessie said, swallowing hard.

  “That is true,” Lone Wing said. “But that does not mean he is not skilled enough to war against his enemies. He was taught those skills early in life.”

  He reached over and took one of her hands in his. “He will return soon, victorious over evil,” he said softly. “And then we will leave for our new life in a new country.”

  “Do you dread living on a reservation?” Jessie asked, enjoying the warmth and comfort of his hand in hers.

  “No one wishes to be penned in,” Lone Wing said with the voice of a man. “But our people, the Sioux, have learned well the art of a
dapting. So shall we now.”

  “Now that you are your people’s Historian, you have much to write, don’t you?” Jessie said somberly.

  “Ho, I do,” Lone Wing said, turning his beautiful brown eyes toward the fresh graves in the distance, where the newly dead lay beneath the mounds of dirt and rocks. The rocks were used to keep animals from their loved ones.

  He then turned his eyes back to Jessie. “I will be accurate in what I write,” he said. “Long years from now, when the next generation of the Fox band is curious about these times, our people will know what occurred this day. I will wait until the end of our journey to the Dakotas, and then I will go and sit alone on a bluff. As I look down upon my people while they prepare their new lodges for a new life, I will begin, truly begin, my time as Historian. I will leave nothing out about what happened here today, or on the long days of our journey.”

  He swallowed hard, then gazed into Jessie’s eyes again. “I will record the names, too, of those who will die on the trail to our new assigned home,” he said. “I hope those names are few.”

  “I’m so sorry that my own flesh and blood interfered so terribly in your people’s lives,” Jessie said, tears of regret stinging the corners of her eyes. “I wish it could have been different. I fear that too many of your people will be reminded of my cousin’s evil when they look at me, for I am—was—his cousin.”

  She shivered as she thought about Reginald’s horrible last screams. She had to believe that although it was pitch-black in the cave, he had been able to see something that had actually frightened him to death, for moments after that scream, there had been nothing but silence.

  Yes, she truly believed he had died then, for surely what he had seen, or thought he had seen, had been far worse than anything that had appeared in his nightmares.

  “You are never to concern yourself about my people’s feelings for you,” Lone Wing said softly. “They see the good in you, as do I, just like my chieftain uncle. They know you had no control over how your cousin behaved. Some people are born good . . . some bad. Your cousin was one of the worst of the bad.”