Anxiety almost making him dizzy, Earl snatched the keys from the sheriff, then headed toward the door that led to the back room. He flinched when the sheriff stepped in front of him, and opened the door.
“You didn’t think I’d let you go visit your daughter alone, now did you?” Sheriff Nolan said, chuckling. He nodded toward the interior. “Go on. Get in the cell with her. But don’t forget, I’ll be watchin’ your every move.”
Earl set his jaw, then walked past the sheriff. When he caught sight of Elizabeth standing in a far corner of a cell, his gut twisted and tears splashed from his eyes. “Elizabeth,” he whispered. Just saying her name seemed to tear his heart to shreds.
He went to the cell. Elizabeth gasped when she saw him there. His fingers fumbled with the keys, trying to find the one that fit the lock.
She ran to the front of the cell. She clasped the bars. “Father, you’ve come,” she cried.
She then stared icily at the sheriff who was mightily amused watching her father try to find the right key.
Finally a key turned in the lock. Earl slammed the door open and rushed inside the cell, embracing Elizabeth. “Are you all right?” he asked.
“No one has harmed me,” Elizabeth said, giving the sheriff another cold glare. Then she pleaded, “Get me out of here, Father. I don’t want to spend another night in this . . . in this hellhole. It’s even worse than Maysie described. At night . . . at night—”
She stopped and turned her eyes away from him, haunted by the sounds that she had heard the night before. There were moans of pain, and many more of lusty pleasure. As the moonlight had filtered through the narrow windows, she had seen many varieties of sexual activity acted out before her. What she had seen had not only startled her, but sickened her as well.
Earl had seen and heard enough. He turned and faced the sheriff. “I demand you release her immediately,” he said, his voice growing louder with each word. “She’s no criminal and you know it. Set her free or I’ll—”
“If you so much as even look like you’re going to threaten me I’ll lock you up with your daughter and throw away the key,” Sheriff Nolan spit out between clenched teeth. He nodded at Earl. “Forget this foolishness of takin’ your daughter with you tonight or tomorrow. When the judge arrives from San Francisco, she’ll get her day in court. But until then, she’s mine. Do you hear? Mine.”
Earl’s jaw went slack and his heart fell to his feet. He realized that no matter what he said to the sheriff, Elizabeth was to remain in jail.
He turned slowly to Elizabeth and drew her gently into his arms. “I’ve got to go,” he whispered. “But I’ll manage to get you out of here. Somehow.”
“Please do,” Elizabeth whispered back, feeling safe and loved because he had come.
But then Earl whispered something else to her, something that proved that he had little trust in her. That he might even believe that she was guilty of helping in the escape.
“Elizabeth, whose hide are you protecting?” Earl whispered, not allowing her to jerk free when she tried. “Where’ve you been? With Indians? I saw the Indian saddle. Everett told me that you wore an Indian dress the day you returned home. Tell me, Elizabeth, why?”
Elizabeth pressed her lips together, refusing to respond. She was glad when the sheriff’s voice boomed from behind her father, making him release her from his tight grip.
“Come on, you’ve been in there long enough.” Nolan barked.
Her father stepped away from her and gazed into her eyes. She turned her back on him, dying a slow death inside over the way he was looking at her—as if he were the judge and jury, handing down a death sentence. Without her having even told him about Strong Heart, he seemed to already know her secret—the secret that she had thought to have locked safely within her heart.
Now what would he do? she thought despairingly to herself.
Earl stared at Elizabeth a moment longer, then stormed from the prison. He lifted himself into his saddle. He was filled with anguish and doubt over Elizabeth’s part in the Indian’s escape. Her silence was troubling.
But how, he wondered? When would she have met an Indian? It made no sense, no sense at all. Then he recalled how she had somehow managed to get herself involved with that young girl, Maysie.
He now had to believe that she had gone against his orders more than once. She had wandered wherever she pleased when he was not there to stop her.
The thought angered him. Yet, no matter what she had done, no matter how defiant she had become, he would do everything to free his daughter from prison. Only then could he force the answers from her. And this he must do. He hoped that what he would find out would be less awful than it now appeared to be.
He sent his horse into a gallop away from the prison, already devising a plan in his mind as to how Elizabeth might be set free. Morris Murdoch. Morris must have connections—he would surely know who to cut deals with in Seattle to get Elizabeth out of the prison.
“Yes, that’s what I’ll do,” Earl said to himself as he guided his horse through the town. “I’ll ask for Murdoch’s help. I’m going to ask him to use whatever influence he has to get Elizabeth back home with me.”
He gave the prison a look over his right shoulder, then rode onward.
* * *
Elizabeth moved halfheartedly to the bunk in her cell and sat down on its edge, peering at the darkened sky through the window.
Another night.
Another hell.
When would it end? If ever!
Chapter 20
I think and speak of other things,
To keep my mind at rest.
—JOHN CLARE
Discouraged over not finding the raiders after having scoured the countryside looking for them, Strong Heart sat beside a blazing fire in the newly constructed council house. Many braves around him were discussing the matters of their village, especially their plans for the upcoming salmon harvest.
Strong Heart was not only displeased about his unsuccessful search, but also worried about his father. He had not joined the council today. When he had gone to his father’s longhouse early this morning, his mother had greeted Strong Heart at the door and dissuaded him from waking his father. His leg wound had kept the old chief awake most of the night.
Guilt filled Strong Heart. Twice now he had let his father down—the day of the raid Strong Heart had not been there to fight for his people, and now he had not found those responsible for his father’s injury.
He had let his mother down, as well, by not being able to find her father.
At least there was one thing that could bring some sunshine into his heart as he sat listening to the other braves debating. His la-daila. His Elizabeth with the luminous green eyes and hair the color of flame.
Soon she would join him again and then his burden would be lightened. She had a way of making his losses bearable, giving him the strength to forge ahead to the future.
Something one of the braves was saying brought him back to the present.
He listened intently, realizing that while he had been thinking he had missed something important.
“As we have discussed before, again I say that we should forget the salmon harvest this year,” the brave was saying, shocking Strong Heart clear to his core. That any brave would ever think such a thing, much less speak it aloud!
Strong Heart leaned forward, his hands resting on his knees. The same brave quickly explained his reasons.
“I say let us catch the salmon for the white men and take the money they have offered instead of keeping the salmon for ourselves.” The brave looked nervously over at Strong Heart, whose expression was stern and forbidding.
“I . . . I . . . would even accept their offer to work in their fishery,” the brave continued warily. “Why should others have the money, when it could be ours?”
“This that I am hearing, from a brave who has always prided himself on living away from the ways of the white people, basking in the pride of being Su
quamish, living only for the honor of being Suquamish, makes Strong Heart ashamed,” Strong Heart scolded. His gaze roamed the circle of braves. “Are there others who feel the same? Would you rather work for the white men than your very own people? How could any of you forget the importance of the salmon to the Suquamish? It is what sustains us through the long, harsh winters. Without the salmon, many would go hungry!”
His eyes bored into the one brave that had spoken so favorably of working for the white people, becoming their slave as had so many of their forefathers so long ago.
“This that you bring before our braves today—this talk of working for white men,” Strong Heart said, his voice flat. “Why do you?”
“Two white men came to our village while you were gone to set Four Winds free from the white man’s prison,” the brave said, his face flushing under Strong Heart’s stare. “They sat in council with your father and made offers that sounded foolish until . . . until . . . after the raid, and I saw how quickly things could change for our people. In one instant, the salmon that we would harvest could be taken from us by fires set by evil raiders. Now I see the importance of learning ways to feed our people other than the salmon run each autumn.”
Strong Heart rose slowly to his feet, towering over the braves in council. With his fists on his hips and his legs spread, he glared from man to man. “Who were these white men intruders?” he asked, his voice filled with wrath. “A name. Do you have names?”
“Morris Murdoch was the only name that stays in my mind,” another brave said, looking sternly up at Strong Heart. “The other name has flown.”
A smooth and clear voice suddenly spoke from behind Strong Heart, who turned in surprise. His father was limping into the council house with the aid of a staff. Strong Heart started to go to him and was stopped by what his father was saying.
“I, too, have forgotten the white man’s name due to all that has happened since their visit,” Chief Moon Elk said. “But, my son, while you were gone on your search for the raiders, I sent out scouts to see where the white men were building their fishery that they spoke so openly of—where they wish to enslave our people for what they call wages. This building in which salmon will be processed to sell to other white men sits on the shores of the Sound, close to the hallowed grounds of our people. The white man’s house that also sits on our hallowed grounds is lived in by one of the men who came to us with cheap offers of the heart.”
Strong Heart’s heart constricted and his throat went dry, stunned by what his father had said. In his mind, he saw that day when he had stood on the butte, studying the men working on the shore, erecting a building. He had wondered what it was for.
The realization of who the man was whom Chief Moon Elk was speaking of sent a wave of despair through Strong Heart, making him weave with the pain that the knowledge brought him.
The man was Elizabeth’s father! It had to be.
His heart now beat rapidly with anger, as he recalled her explanation for her father’s decision to move to the Pacific Northwest. She had spoken very skillfully around the truth—not actually lying to him, yet not being altogether truthful.
It sickened him to know that all along she had known of her father’s schemes to entice the Suquamish into leaving their way of life to take up the white man’s culture!
She had surely known, also, that her father had chosen his village to work his schemes on. And yet she had not admitted it to Strong Heart.
The thought that she could betray him in the slightest way tore at his very soul, making her betrayal lie heavy on his heart. He fell speechless in front of his father.
Chief Moon Elk went to the circle of men and sat down among them. Strong Heart silently followed and sat down beside his father.
Elizabeth! he despaired to himself. His la-daila!
Strong Heart would not allow himself to believe that she would betray him. Knowing her as well as he did, he had to believe that her purpose for lying to him had a good reason.
Ah-hah, he silently decided—yes, he would believe that his woman had lied for a good reason.
As his father conversed with the other braves, convincing them to stay with their people and participate in the salmon harvest only for their people, Strong Heart’s thoughts turned elsewhere.
He began thinking about the timing of the white men’s visit to his village with offers that they had, in turn, refused, and the massacre that had occurred shortly after.
He could not help but suspect that Elizabeth’s father had led the raid in retaliation for the Indians’ turning him down.
Would her father have planned the raid in order to frighten the Suquamish into bowing down to his wishes when he came back?
Strong Heart momentarily held his face within his hands, slowly shaking his head.
No! he cried silently to himself. It could not be. Elizabeth was too sweet—too wholesome—to have a totally monstrous father who would kill and maim innocent people.
His father’s voice brought Strong Heart out of his turmoil. He turned to his father and listened to him be the leader who Strong Heart could remember from childhood. As Strong Heart looked slowly around him, he could see that what his father was saying was reaching the braves, persuading them to agree with his every word and command.
“I will listen to no more talk about assisting the white men,” Chief Moon Elk said firmly. “Our people will fish the salmon as we always have. It is time to concentrate only on the welfare of our people. We must begin the preparations for the march to the canyon where we have always harvested the salmon in the autumn of the year.”
Chief Moon Elk shifted his eyes to Strong Heart. “My son, do you have anything to add?” he said, placing a hand on Strong Heart’s shoulder.
Strong Heart felt proud of his father at that moment, and was relieved that his father was able to ignore the pain of his leg, and lead his people again.
The raiders at least had not robbed him of his strength of spirit.
“You have said it all quite eloquently, my father,” Strong Heart said, placing a hand on his father’s that rested on his shoulder. “There is nothing more that I can add.”
When his father leaned over and drew him into a fond embrace, Strong Heart closed his eyes, reveling in this closeness between himself and his father. Strong Heart’s place was here, at his father’s side. He tried to force Elizabeth from his mind, yet she always seemed to return, haunting his every thought.
He knew that no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that he could do it, he would not be able to forget her all that easily.
* * *
The mountains were a hazy purple against the darkening sky. A deer roasted on a spit over a campfire, sizzling in its own juices.
Four Winds sat quietly in the growing shadows away from the other desperadoes and renegades, listening to Morris Murdoch tell the men about Elizabeth’s imprisonment, and that her father wanted her set free.
Four Winds ran one hand along the cold steel barrel of a pistol lying in his lap. He had just cleaned its chambers and reloaded it with soft-tipped bullets. He wondered what he should do about this latest piece of news that could eventually involve his friend, Strong Heart. When had Strong Heart set the woman free? He had seemed determined to keep her as his captive.
No matter, though, Four Winds thought to himself, how she happened to leave Strong Heart. It was the fact that she was jailed in that miserable prison that bothered him.
Not because he was concerned about her. Strong Heart was his only concern. If the authorities managed to get information from Elizabeth concerning Strong Heart and Four Winds, they might join Elizabeth in jail and be hanged as criminals.
On the other hand, if the desperadoes went to the prison and broke her out, what then? If they let her return home, the sheriff would only arrest her again.
But if they did not return her home, where would they take her?
If she was not in the custody of Strong Heart, Strong Heart was in danger. It was
Four Winds’s duty to warn him, for Four Winds owed him a favor for having released him from prison.
Ah-hah, he had to warn Strong Heart of the danger that this woman posed for him—even though revealing this to Strong Heart, would also be revealing that he was not the innocent man that Strong Heart had thought. His best friend would know that Four Winds was a renegade, who had joined up with his old friends again. The excitement that riding with outlaws offered had become too thick in his blood to leave.
Four Winds rose quietly to his feet, making sure not to draw undue attention to himself. He continued to listen to Morris Murdoch, who was the leader of the gang.
“Men, let’s go and get Earl’s daughter out of prison,” Murdoch urged. “What can it hurt? You need some excitement in your life now, don’t you, since you’ve been forced to lie low in the hills. Staying away from raidin’ until things cooled off a mite. Set his daughter free and we’ll hide her someplace where the sheriff can’t find her. Earl will have to accept that as a condition of her being rescued. And he will. The fool. He doesn’t know that he doesn’t have much time left to enjoy her. After everything is set with the Suquamish, I plan to kill Earl and take complete control of the fishery.”
Morris laughed throatily. “But all in due time,” he said, sipping from a cup of coffee. “Everything good comes to those who wait.”
As the men put their heads together and began making plans on how to break Elizabeth out of the prison, Four Winds slipped away unnoticed.
When he got to the horses, he went to his and very easily untethered it and launched himself into the saddle.
Knowing how to be as quiet as a panther in the night, he urged his horse in a soft lope away from the campsite.
Yet again he worried about telling Strong Heart that he was at heart a renegade—an outlaw. But his loyalty to his friend was much stronger than his fear of being condemned in Strong Heart’s eyes.
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