Indigo Sky (22 page)

Michael hobbled into the kitchen on crutches and grinned. “Who is your boyfriend? Little young for you.”

Cornelia moved to his side and kissed him. “You were sick and not of sound mind when Leila worked with us at the army hospital.” She filled him in. “Why this charade, well, she’ll have to enlighten us.”

For half an hour Leila explained the circumstances around Hank’s death. “I took responsibility for destroying a great mind.” She bit her lip. “Rork and I made love,” she blurted. “My ridiculous attitude about Hank’s death drove Rork away.” She sighed. “By the time I came to my senses, he’d left.”

Cornelia waved a hand. “And the male garb?”

Leila sipped her tea. “On our trip to Kansas, the captain of the steamer we were on tried to seduce me. Without Rork’s protection, I didn’t want to take any more chances.” She shrugged. “Hence the male garb.” Staring miserably at Michael and Cornelia, she set her cup down. “Where did Rork go?”

Cornelia reached over and took her hand. “We don’t know. He may have headed west. All he said was that he was going to paint, but didn’t say for how long or where. He left on horseback with a mule for his equipment.”

“I think he has gone out west.” Michael smiled. “Aren’t all artists a little deranged?”

“Perhaps, but Rork isn’t like other artists.” Leila rose slowly, her heart aching. “I’ve made a mess of things with my immature attitude. Now I’m stuck with this morose and rather mad trapper.”

“Why not stay with us until Rork returns?”

“If he took all his things I’m guessing he
will
be heading westward. The man I’m with is an expert tracker, and after he’s apprehended these killers, he’ll doubtless help me find Rork.”

Cornelia’s brow furrowed. “It’s dangerous for you to accompany the tracker. Perhaps the man can leave you here and return for you.”

Leila’s mouth tugged down. “No, he won’t do that. Tom is heading west after he’s caught them. He answers to no one and is quite intractable.” She smiled at Michael. “I am so pleased to see you up and about. I like that eye patch. It gives you a roughish air.”

“I agree. He was handsome before, but now he’s positively devastating.”

Michael took her hand and kissed it. “Flatterer.”

“Not at all. It’s true.”

“I must go. Mr. Tobin told me not to be late.” Leila picked up her broad-brimmed hat.

“Please be careful, my dear friend.”

“I will.” She shoved the hat on her head and touched Michael’s shoulder. “Goodbye.”

He struggled up, took her hand, kissed it, and gave her a peck on the cheek. “I owe you and Rork a debt of gratitude for getting help after the steamer went down, and for your friendship.”

Leila chuckled. “It was all Rork. I was useless, and if it had been left to me to succeed, you would all still be languishing in the forest.” She walked out arm-in-arm with Cornelia. They hugged and then she climbed into the carriage with a wave.

Chapter 30

Swinging onto her horse, Leila rubbed her eyes. She yawned and pulled on her riding gloves. Mist curled through the grass. It was cold now, but soon the sun would burn down on them. She was past caring about her skin tanning or the freckles that now dotted her nose.

The horses snorted and tossed their heads, vapor rising from their nostrils. Tom controlled his mount expertly and looked at Leila. “You all right, boy?”

“Why shouldn’t I be? I mean, life is great. I’m on my way through a barren land with a mad trapper to engage a group of cold-blooded murderers.”

He chuckled and ejected a stream of brown tobacco spittle. “Only two days and ye’re griping already. I take it our luxurious sleeping accommodations last night didn’t meet with yer high standards.”

Her mouth twitched with mirth.
So he does have a sense of humor.
“Not at all. It exceeded my expectations. How can one not enjoy checking the bedding for scorpions or finding comfort among rocks?”

“At least I saved ya the trouble of removing the rattler from yer bedding.”

She lifted one eyebrow. “Is that what we had for dinner? I did wonder.”

“You ride well.”

“That’s a rare compliment.”

A plume of dust climbed skyward in the distance. Tom reined his horse and shielded his eyes. “Someone’s in a mighty hurry.” His back stiffened, and he drew his rifle from a scabbard on the saddle and laid it across his muscular thighs. “More like a whole passel. Stay behind me, lad.” His shoulders relaxed. “Damn, I sure hope the colonel didn’t send me a posse of soldiers to help find the Espinosa clan.”

Leila’s spirits rose. “You are mad. I’d be delighted if soldiers joined us.”

“I work alone,” Tom grumbled. He took his penknife and a rope of chewing tobacco from his pocket, cut a wad, and popped it into his mouth.

Leila maneuvered her horse until she was next to Tom. “You’re so ornery.”

Tom chortled. “That I am. Wait until I turn ya into a trapper. Ye’ll also get to like yer own company.”

She shuddered. “I doubt I’ll ever be one.”

“It’s a good life . . . for a man.”

Leila shot a glance at him. “I will grow up, you know.”

“Will ya now? I wonder into what, though?”

Soldiers, followed by the cloud of dust, drew closer.

Leila chewed her lip.
Did I somehow let it slip I’m a woman? No, Tom wouldn’t hesitate to tell me he knew
. She coughed as the soldiers came to a halt, enveloping them all in dust.

Tom leaned on the pommel, chewing tobacco methodically and scowling at fifteen Union soldiers.

One of them tipped his hat. “I’m Sergeant Winkler. Colonel Tappan told us to join you in helping to find Espinosa and his gang.”

Tom grunted and spat out the wad of tobacco. “It wasn’t necessary, but you’re here now, so get behind me.” He flicked the reins and set off at a trot. “An’ no jabberin.’”

The rhythmic pounding of hooves was comforting, and Leila relaxed in the saddle as the sun slid past its zenith. The rolling plains, fringed with a distant blue haze of hills, surrounded them for hundreds of miles. Swathes of long, dry grass bent to the wind’s will. Very few trees graced the prairie.

They rode up a steep hill. Leila took off her hat, sighing as a stronger breeze cooled her.

The earth rumbled.

She looked around. “What is that?”

Tom held up his hand, halting the procession on the summit. “Ye’ll soon see.” They overlooked grassy plains that merged with a wide band of green trees that hugged a broad, muddy river. “That’s the Platte River. We’ll camp there tonight.” He pointed east. “After we bag dinner.”

A massive dust cloud billowed up, and Leila’s eyes widened as a dark, undulating form emerged.

Thousands of bison thundered across the plains to the river. The calm water became a boiling cauldron as the beasts plunged into it.

“I’ve never seen such a spectacular sight,” she roared over the sound of the thundering hooves.

“It sure is. Time to get dinner.” Tom pulled his rifle from the scabbard and glanced at Leila. “Come along, boy. Ya need to learn how to hunt.”

Leila shook her head. “I can’t kill one of those magnificent animals. I don’t want to kill anything, thank you.”

Tom shrugged. “Ye’ll starve in the wild.” He tapped his horse. The soldiers made to follow, and he fixed them with cold yellow eyes. “Stay put. I don’t need ya to spook ‘em.”

Leila dismounted and sat on the ground, chewing a blade of grass.

Tom rode away, moving downwind of the herd until he was a speck in the distance, and finally disappeared into the trees.

A short time later, two shots rang out.

Leila flinched.

The bison bellowed and took off, racing up the opposite riverbank, fanning out as they galloped across the plains.

Tom emerged from the trees and rode halfway back to the soldiers. He cupped his mouth, yelling, “Get yer asses down here and butcher the bison.”

Leila followed reluctantly, even though her stomach grumbled with hunger. Jerky and hard biscuits became more unpalatable as each day passed. Visions of perfectly grilled steak swirled around her head, and she wondered for the hundredth time why she put herself through this hell for a man when she could be relaxing in luxury and enjoying gourmet meals. She smiled.
But that isn’t who I am. One thing is certain, my life isn’t boring anymore.

Sweat trickled down Leila’s face as she stared at the granite rocks rising from the desert. Green trees, hugging the base, offered the only relief to the barren vista. She brushed gnats from her eyes and wiped her face on her sleeve, leaving a brown streak of dust. “What mountains are those? Do we have to climb them?” she croaked, coughing up dust.

“Laramie Mountains. Nothing compared to the Rockies, but we don’t go over them. A canyon runs through it.” He grinned, appearing unaffected by the grueling trip. “Ya wiltin’, lad?”

“Of course I’m damned well wilting,” she snapped.

Winkler chuckled. “You’ll have to grow some balls, boy, if you want to survive this godforsaken land.”

“I have plenty,” Leila scrunched her face and tapped her horse, riding ahead. She looked up, and her heart skipped a beat.

A line of Indian horsemen blocked the trail.

She reined her horse, pulse racing. They didn’t seem aggressive, and she relaxed, struck by their regal bearing. Lifting one hand, she wiggled her fingers. “Hello.”

An elder, in a magnificent feather headdress and intricately beaded hide clothes, lifted his hand, palm out in greeting. “
Hao
.”

The metallic click of pistols cocking resounded in the still air. Leila stiffened.
Oh, God, what now
?

Tom galloped past her toward the Indians.

Leila’s horse danced aside, and she controlled it. She feared a battle would ensue. But Tom and the elder greeted each other effusively, grasping forearms and speaking in a tongue Leila had never heard. She released a long breath.

Tom turned in the saddle after a lengthy exchange. “Come here, boy. I want ya to meet Chief Little Raven, peace chief of the Arapaho people.”

Smiling tentatively, she dismounted, walked to the elder, took off her hat, and struck a courtly bow. “I’m very happy to meet you, your majesty.”

“He’s not a king, lad.” Little Raven said something. Tom threw back his head and hooted with laughter. Sobering, he studied Leila and rubbed his cheek. He conversed briefly with the chief again. He wheeled his horse and rode back to the soldiers. “Put yer damn weapons away, unless y’all want spears in yer chests.” He looked at each soldier in turn. “Little Raven’s warriors commented on y’all having fine heads of hair.”

The soldiers scowled and put away their guns. “I don’t trust redskins,” muttered Winkler.

“The feeling is mutual. They don’t trust white men either, but watch yer tongue. Little Raven speaks English. Oh, and ya might want to cast yer eyes to the north.” He shaded his eyes. “At a guess, I’d say about two hundred Arapaho warriors just appeared on that there rise.”

Instinctively, the soldiers drew their horses closer to each other.

Tom chuckled. “We camp with the Arapaho tonight.” He rode back to Little Raven and set off with them. He glanced over his shoulder. “Get a move on, boy.”

Mimicking Tom and the Indians, Leila sat cross-legged next to him on the grass. In the distance, an owl hooted. Sparks swirled up as a warrior tossed a log on the blazing fire.

Keeping their distance, the soldiers sat opposite.

Little Raven opened a hide bag and removed a stone pipe stem with his right hand then took out a stone pipe bowl with his left hand. He rose and sprinkled a little tobacco on the ground. He put an equal amount in the bowl and pointed the stem eastward.

Leila watched in fascination as firelight shimmered on eagle feathers hanging from the stem.
Rork would love to paint this
.

Little Raven chanted and repeated the process, pointing the stem south, west, and north, each time sprinkling tobacco on the earth and adding a little to the pipe. His voice rose and fell as he touched the stem to the ground then lifted it high, pointing at a sickle moon hanging on the horizon in a star-studded sky.

Finally, he pointed up, smiled, and said in halting English, “Now Wakan Tanka favor us—we one with the earth, sky, and all living things.” Little Raven joined the bowl and stem then bent and ignited a piece of bark from his pouch and lit the pipe, blowing smoke in six directions. He passed the pipe around.

Leila leaned closer to Tom. “Who is Wakan Tanka?” she whispered.

“The Great Spirit—like your God.”

“What is the pipe ritual about?”

“I’ll tell you another time.” Tom took the pipe and puffed it, blowing the smoke heavenward. He then gave it to Leila.

She held up her hand. “I don’t smoke.”

“If ya refuse, it will be seen as an insult.” His yellow eyes bored into her. “If ya don’t want to smoke the peace pipe or want yer scalp hanging from a warrior’s belt, ye’d better start runnin.’”

Eyes dilated, Leila nodded and took the pipe, sucking the end. The tobacco, mixed with herbs and willow bark, filled her mouth. Eyes watering, she expelled a cloud of aromatic smoke, trying to contain the urge to cough violently.

“Good, lad. Now give it to the warrior beside you.”

Leila glanced at the tall, stony-faced Indian and handed him the pipe.

His chiseled face revealed nothing as he took the pipe and drew on it, immediately releasing the smoke upwards. He said something to Tom in a deep voice.

Tom smiled and nodded.

“What did he say?”

“That you’re a girl.”

Her eyes flickered, and she bit her lip. “I’m just a boy.”

The warrior snorted, speaking in his deep rumbling voice.

Tom chuckled. “He says, ‘Then yer grandfather didn’t teach you well.’ Indian boys become warriors at fifteen, after their first bison kill.”

Leila glared at the handsome warrior. “What has my grandfather got to do with it?”

“In the Indian culture, grandfathers teach boys to hunt and train them in the ways of a warrior. The fathers are too busy hunting or warring.”

“Oh.”

Bison steaks from an earlier hunt were cooked on hot stones set in the coals. Tom handed her a nearly raw steak on a stick. “Eat up. We have to get some shuteye and make an early start tomorrow.”

She took the steak. Blood dripped onto her pants. “Could I have it done a bit more?”

“Eat. It’s more nutritious undercooked.”

Gagging with every mouthful, Leila managed to eat it. Minutes later, she jumped up and ran to the bushes to throw up. She came back, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. “Sorry about that. But I told you I couldn’t eat it.”

Tom’s eyes narrowed, and he cooked another steak. “This time, see if ya can keep it down.” He handed her a chunk of flat cornbread. “Eat the bread first.”

She nodded, nibbling on the bread. “Will the Indians help us find the murderers?”

“Nope, they leave at dawn.”

Managing to keep the food down, Leila bid everyone goodnight. She curled up in a bison hide and fell asleep to the drone of voices.

Tom shook Leila. She woke with a start. “Time to go,” he whispered.

She sat up, shivering as the warm fur fell away. She sulked and looked around. “But it’s still dark.”

“Come on,” he hauled her up. “Just get on yer horse. It’s saddled an’ all.”

Rubbing her sleepy eyes, she followed and wished she could at least brush her teeth, but Tom didn’t brook any arguments when he decided on a course. Then she realized the Indians were with them. Once away from the camp, she glanced at Tom.

He scowled, forbidding conversation.

Leila shrugged. He was half-Indian, after all.
Perhaps he is more comfortable around them. The soldiers did act like idiots yesterday.

The sun peeped over the Laramie Mountains, and the Indians bid them farewell.

Hunger gnawed at Leila. “When can we stop for breakfast?”

Tom handed her jerky and cornbread. “No time to stop.”

“Why sneak away from the soldiers? They were to help you apprehend the killers.”

“They talk too much.” He veered south.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to take on these killers alone.”

But Tom simply increased the pace. “Little Raven said they found tracks that could belong to the Espinosa clan.”