Beyond The Horizon

by Connie Mason

  Blade stood his ground. Shannon was amazed that he could appear so cool and emotionless at a time like this. Nothing in his expression gave Shannon a hint of his thoughts or what he intended. She would have been stunned had she been able to understand Blade’s words as he addressed the formidable warrior in the Sioux language.

  “It has been a long time, Mad Wolf.”

  Mad Wolf stared at Blade for several thoughtful minutes before a slow smile curved his lips, a smile that did not reach the black darkness of his eyes.

  “Not nearly long enough, Swift Blade.” Recognition came slowly but surely to Mad Wolf. “We thought the white man’s ways claimed you long ago. Why do you return?”

  “To see my mother and grandfather,” Blade answered. “I have never abandoned my mother’s people. Even while I fought in the war I knew I would return one day. What are you doing here? Are you making war on the white man?”

  “White men kill our buffalo, they trample the prairie and despoil our hunting grounds,” Mad Wolf spat angrily. “They tell us we must stay on the reservations and starve while they steal our lands. The old ones might be satisfied to sit in front of their tipis and dream of bygone days, but the young warriors band together to drive away the whites.”

  “You and the others face an impossible task,” Blade observed. “There are more white men than blades of grass on the prairie. They travel West in great numbers and you cannot stop that which is inevitable.”

  “Perhaps not, but I will die trying,” Mad Wolf snarled. Fierce determination and hatred twisted his face into an ugly mask. “Soon, very soon,” he added slyly, “we will fight the white man with his own weapons.”

  Blade’s interest sharpened at the mention of weapons. Were the guns he was tracing intended for Mad Wolf and his band of renegades?

  “How will you get weapons? It is against the law to sell guns to Indians.” When it became obvious that Mad Wolf wasn’t going to respond, Blade prodded, “You haven’t answered my question. What are you doing so far from the village?”

  “We go where we please,” Mad Wolf said after a pause. “Yellow Dog is old and dreams of peace, but we know that day will never come.”

  “So you kill and raid indiscriminately,” Blade charged. His contemptuous gaze settled on the scalps decorating Mad Wolfs lance. “You make war on helpless women and children.”

  “The soldiers take our women, use them, insult them, and then discard them. They kill our children and old people and destroy our villages. It is up to us, the young and strong, to defend our people. You have lived with the whites for many moons, ate their food, enjoyed their women. Have you also betrayed your mother’s people? Are you a spy for the soldiers?”

  Blade started violently. Mad Wolf was closer to the truth than he knew. Unfortunately, Shannon chose that moment to bring attention to herself by tugging at Blade’s arm and asking, “What is it? What are you talking about?” She sensed the tension in Blade, felt the antagonism leap between the two men, and could hold her tongue no longer.

  Mad Wolfs cold gaze slid to Shannon, raking her trim figure from head to toe, drawn hypnotically to the rich chestnut sheen of her hair. Noting the direction of Mad Wolfs gaze, Blade hissed, “Put on your bonnet!”

  Shannon obeyed instantly, but it was too late. Mad Wolf’s face had already assumed an anticipatory gleam and his hard, dark eyes blazed with an inner glow that Blade correctly identified as lust.

  “Who is this woman? If she is yours, I will buy her from you.” Mad Wolfs expression sent a chill down Shannon’s spine. “She will give me fine sons and daughters.”

  “Little Firebird is not for sale.” The moment they met, Blade had given Shannon the rather colorful Indian name, but this was the first time he had dared speak it aloud.

  Shannon was frighteningly aware that the fierce warrior was talking about her. She didn’t like the way his bold, black eyes impaled her. Unconsciously she stepped closer to Blade, seeking the protection of his comforting presence.

  “What is he saying?”

  “Mad Wolf wants to buy you.” Blade’s words were accompanied by a chuckle of amusement.

  “Buy me? No one owns me!”

  “I will give you ten ponies,” Mad Wolf offered magnanimously. By Indian standards it was a generous offer.

  “Little Firebird is not for sale,” Blade repeated. This time there was no hint of amusement in his voice. “She is my woman and I intend to keep her.”

  Mad Wolf merely grunted as he continued to devour Shannon with an avid gaze that set her teeth on edge. Blade broke the tense silence by asking, “Are we free to go? Yellow Dog still wields enough power to demand retribution from the man who harms his grandson.”

  “Go back to the wagon train and the white man’s ways, Swift Blade. You ceased being Sioux long ago. Take Little Firebird with you, but don’t grow lax, for you haven’t heard the last from me. I have been following the wagon train for many suns.”

  “You planned to attack the wagon train,” Blade accused him.

  “Perhaps.” His words gave away nothing. “Then again, I might have been merely watching its progress.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “I owe you no explanation, Swift Blade. Take your woman and go before I forget you are Yellow Dog’s grandson and Sioux blood flows through your veins.”

  He sent Shannon a burning look, then wheeled his pony and galloped off, his war cry loud enough to raise the dead. His followers were close on his heels, except for one warrior who lagged behind to issue a warning. Blade recognized him immediately as Big Crow, one of the young men with whom he had been friends when he lived in his mother’s village.

  “Beware of Mad Wolf, Swift Blade. He is determined and proud. He will find a way to get what he wants.” He glanced meaningfully at Shannon.

  “Why do you follow him, Big Crow? I remember Mad Wolf well. He is ruled by anger and resentment. He is not the kind of leader young men like you should emulate.”

  “I follow Mad Wolf because I believe as he does,” Big Crow revealed. “The whites will destroy us if we do not fight back.”

  Without waiting for a reply, the young warrior raced off after Mad Wolf and his braves.

  Shannon went limp with relief, sagging against Blade for support. “Will they come back?” Her voice shook and her legs trembled, as much from excitement as from terror.

  “This is Sioux country.” Blade’s cryptic explanation did little to ease Shannon’s mind. “Come, I’ll help you mount. It’s time we returned to the wagon tram.”

  “Did you know those Indians? It seemed as if…” Her sentence trailed off, almost afraid of what she would learn.

  “They are from my village,” Blade admitted slowly. “Mad Wolf and I were never great friends. He was too arrogant and hot-headed for my liking. He indicated that he has left the village and is now leader of a band of renegades.”

  “Will they attack the wagon train?” Shannon asked. She thought of the dozens of innocent women and children who would die in a raid.

  “Perhaps, but I don’t think so,” Blade answered, hoisting Shannon into the saddle. “Something Mad Wolf said led me to believe he was merely observing our comings and goings.”

  A question formed in Shannon’s mind but was never voiced as Blade leaped astride Warrior and set both mounts into motion with a slap of the reins. Whatever he wanted to discuss with Shannon was forgotten, pushed aside by more pressing matters.

  News of the Indian sighting swept swiftly through the ranks of those traveling with the wagon train. Blade had called the men together shortly after he and Shannon returned and issued a warning. The fact that it had been a war party was taken seriously and immediate precautions were instigated to protect the emigrants should the Sioux reappear. Even the women were instructed in the art of loading and firing a gun and how best to protect themselves and their children. Blade warned against straggling behind and cautioned everyone to remain safely within the camp perimeter at night.

&nb
sp; Of all those concerned, Clive Bailey remained strangely unaffected by the Indian sightings, openly scoffing at the danger and voicing his doubt concerning an attack. He appeared so unconcerned that Blade immediately became suspicious. He cursed his luck at being unable to search Clive Bailey’s wagon, for he truly believed he’d find much more than goods and supplies. Did Mad Wolf know Clive Bailey? Were Mad Wolf and his renegades actually protecting the wagon train from other raiders, aware of what it held?

  The guards were doubled that night and the camp subdued. Shannon slept fitfully inside the wagon with Callie and the baby. A thunderstorm during the night drove Howie inside and Shannon relaxed somewhat, certain the Indians wouldn’t attack in so violent a storm.

  Storms were common on the prairie in the spring and summer, providing brilliant displays of lightning and claps of thunder that shook the wagons. However, when no rain fell for days, as was often the case, they had to contend with alkali dust that lay as deep as six inches on trails, churned into gritty, blinding clouds by wagon wheels and animal hooves.

  When Shannon awoke the next morning she learned that some of the cattle had been spooked by the storm and much of the day was spent rounding up the strays. Blade led a group of men out at dawn, and both Shannon and Callie were on hand to watch their departure, for Howie was one of those joining Blade. Rather than wait for the men, the wagon train rolled down the trail under the guidance of Clive Bailey, who assumed the role of wagon master in Blade’s absence.

  The men still hadn’t returned with the cattle after the nooning, when the band of Sioux rode down from the hills without warning. They approached the wagons, signing that they wished to talk. The wagons rolled to a stop and a group of armed emigrants joined Clive where he waited for the leader to speak his piece. Shannon recognized Mad Wolf immediately and walked to the edge of the crowd so she might better hear what was being said. She was shocked when Mad Wolf spoke to Clive in halting but clearly understandable English.

  “We are not here to do you harm,” Mad Wolf stated.

  “I hope not,” Clive replied, “this wagon train has valuable cargo bound for Fort Laramie.” His gaze met Mad Wolf’s in mutual understanding. “What do you want? We have trade goods you might be interested in.”

  Mad Wolf motioned to one of the warriors who immediately rode forward leading a string of ponies. “A trade is what I had in mind. I offer ten ponies for Little Firebird.”

  “Little Firebird?” Clive repeated, mystified.

  “Little Firebird will give me fine sons,” Mad Wolf said. Now Clive really was confused.

  But Shannon knew exactly what Mad Wolf meant and started backing away. The movement alerted Mad Wolf, who raised his arm and pointed directly at Shannon. “The woman with fire in her hair is Little Firebird. I wish to buy her. Ten ponies is a generous offer.”

  “No!” At the sound of her voice all eyes swung in Shannon’s direction. “It’s against the law to buy and sell human beings.”

  “The Sioux make their own laws,” Mad Wolf proclaimed loudly.

  “See here,” Clive blustered, stalling for time, “Miss Branigan is not for sale at any price.”

  Mad Wolf looked unperturbed by Clive’s words. “I can wait,” he grunted. His words hinted at fierce determination and masculine arrogance. “Little Firebird belongs to me.”

  “What are you doing here, Mad Wolf? I already told you Little Firebird belongs to me and is not for sale.”

  While the emigrants were gathered around the Indians, Blade and the others rode in unnoticed. He approached Mad Wolf in time to hear his outrageous claim. Blade’s words were spoken in precise Sioux; his face was stiff and unrelenting.

  “Perhaps Little Firebird will prefer me,” Mad Wolf hinted arrogantly.

  “Shannon!” Blade barked in English. “Come here.”

  All eyes focused on Shannon as she walked on rubbery legs to stand beside Blade. Though her insides churned and her chin trembled, her eyes did not waver from the fierce warrior challenging Blade. Only Blade’s staunch bulk and his hand on her shoulder lent her a measure of courage.

  “Mad Wolf has offered ten ponies for you,” he said in careful English so that the renegade would not misunderstand.

  Shannon’s nostrils flared and her eyes turned to pure blue flame. “I am not for sale.” The defiant tilt of her chin only increased Mad Wolf’s desire and his determination to have her.

  “Among my people I am much admired,” he bragged, puffing out his chest importantly. “You and the children you give me will be well provided for.”

  How dare he even suggest such an monstrous arrangement! Shannon raged silently. She was about to blast him with her Irish temper when Blade hissed in her ear, “Don’t insult him, Shannon, he is serious about this.”

  Blade was quick to recognize Shannon’s anger and his warning gave Shannon pause. She cast a cautious glance at Mad Wolf, realizing much depended on her answer. The emigrants knew it too, for their fear was openly displayed for all to see. Most realized Shannon’s refusal meant instant reprisal. Even Mad Wolf’s companions seemed aware that the outcome of their visit depended solely on Shannon’s reply.

  Weighing her words carefully, Shannon said, “I am honored by your offer, Mad Wolf, but I cannot accept.”

  Mad Wolf stiffened, his eyes narrowing dangerously as they settled thoughtfully on Blade. “Swift Blade has spoken the truth. You have made your choice. But I do not accept it.”

  Wheeling his mount, he signaled his companions and they all thundered off across the plains toward the surrounding hills, their blood-curdling war cries reverberating with chilling horror.

  “Shannon, what was that all about?” Callie wanted to know. Breathless with awe, she eyed Shannon curiously. She wasn’t the only one who wanted to know as the emigrants crowded around Shannon demanding an explanation.

  “Mad Wolf has taken a fancy to Shannon.” Blade’s terse explanation saved Shannon from forming a reply.

  “Will he return?” one of the men asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Blade lied, “but it won’t hurt to continue posting extra guards and remain alert.” He didn’t wish to alarm the emigrants but neither did he want them unprepared. He knew that if he wanted Shannon as badly as Mad Wolf obviously did, he’d let nothing keep him from her.

  “Mad Wolf won’t attack,” Clive Bailey predicted calmly. “We outnumber those renegades four to one. They might try to steal our livestock but they’re not stupid. Go back to your wagons, everyone, let’s get rolling.”

  The crowd dispersed reluctantly, but Blade remained behind to speak with Clive. “What makes you so damn certain the Sioux won’t attack?”

  “I just know,” Clive said cryptically.

  “Have you met Mad Wolf before?”

  “Just do the job you are getting paid for and don’t question my judgment,” Clive retaliated. “Come along, Shannon, I’ll see you back to your wagon.”

  Blade looked as if he wanted to object, but when he did not Shannon shrugged and walked away. Blade’s gaze followed the graceful sway of her hips, the proud tilt of her head, and the sudden, inexplicable urge swept over him to sweep Shannon up in his arms, carry her to a secluded spot and make love to her tenderly—endlessly. Something about Shannon Branigan moved him deeply despite the fact that she held him in contempt. She already knew he was a half-breed—what would she do if she discovered he’d fought with the Yankees? The haughty Southern belle had voiced her hatred more than once for Yankees.

  Shannon flounced off with a toss of her chestnut curls, feeling quite pleased with herself for the way she had put that renegade Mad Wolf in his place. But for some reason Blade seemed remote and preoccupied. The scowl appeared permanently etched on his face, especially when Clive Bailey was nearby. Vaguely she wondered at Mad Wolf’s puzzling words. What did Blade tell the truth about? The glance Mad Wolf leveled at Blade before he rode off spoke eloquently of jealousy and hatred. What had Blade told Mad Wolf to make him jealous? Sighing wearily
, Shannon climbed aboard the wagon with Callie as Clive tipped his hat and walked away. There were so many contradictions surrounding Blade that it would take the rest of her life to sort through them.

  Horrified, Shannon realized where her thoughts were leading and blanched. The rest of her life? With a half-breed? Ridiculous!

  Chapter Five

  The wagon train continued along the Platte River. Mad Wolf did not reappear, much to Shannon’s relief. Twice mail wagons escorted by eight or ten cavalrymen from Fort Laramie sped by with little more than a wave and a holler.

  At this point the riverbed stretched one half mile wide and was scantily covered with water a foot and a half deep. Shannon was surprised by the furniture, relics, and treasures strewn along the trail by emigrants no longer in need of such fripperies. They passed a small trading fort made of logs, then crossed a rapid stream running into the Platte. Excitement was high when they reached Plumb Creek Station, the only stopping place between Fort Kearney and Julesburg, which had once been a connecting chain for stage lines and mail. They spent but one night, recalling that in 1864 the dozen or so inhabitants of the station were killed and scalped by renegade Sioux.

  They continued on to Cottonwood Springs, a good camping place eighty miles west of Fort Kearney. Having gotten this far without mishap was cause for celebration, and after supper the fiddlers gathered at the center of the camp and soon dancers were stomping and whirling about with gay abandon. Even those who didn’t dance stomped their feet and clapped their hands to the music. Catching her breath between dances, Shannon glanced around and saw that Blade was suspiciously absent. Then she noted that Clive Bailey stood a short distance from his wagon, a sour look on his face. His driver, Olson, had been assigned to guard duty tonight and Clive seemed disinclined to stray far from his wagon, though he looked as if he’d much prefer to join the revelry.

  Suddenly Shannon saw something that made her heart slam against her ribs. A dark crouching figure detached itself from the shadows and entered Clive’s wagon. Within seconds the shadowy figure became a part of the dark interior.