Savage Autumn (5 page)

Franny poured her husband a cup of coffee, then she too sat down. Her eyes were wide with fright and Joanna clasped her hand, understanding what she was feeling.

“I ’spect you are wondering if you will be in any danger when they get here?”

“They are coming then, are they? I had hoped Tag was mistaken,” Joanna said.

“Yeh, they’ll be here all right. There will be two tribes of them—the Blood and the Piegan. You will be among the few white folks who has ever observed the Blackfoot close up.” Farley laughed, “Leastwise, you will be among the few white folks what have seen the Blackfoot and lived to tell about it.”

“I have heard tales about the ruthlessness of the Blackfoot. It is said that they have no love for the white race. Is there any truth to the rumor?” Simon asked.

“Take everything you ever heard ’bout the Blackfoot and multiply it ten times over and you still won’t have the right of it. They are the most fearsome, bravest, meanest of all the
Indians in my estimation. They been wronged by the white man and it’s true they ain’t got no love for any of us.”

Joanna studied the old man closely. “I’m wondering how you got the name Crazy Farley? If you are crazy then we all are.”

Farley roared with laughter. “Acting crazy has saved my hide more than once. The Indians think that anyone who’s crazy is touched by the Great Spirit, and to harm them would bring the wrath of the spirits down on ’em.”

“You say you were married to a Blackfoot woman. Does that mean you have been welcomed into their village?” Joanna wanted to know.

“Yep, I am one of the few white men they do tolerate.”

“Tell us more about the Blackfoot,” Tag urged excitedly.

The old man let out a stream of tobacco juice and then leaned back against the wagon. “That would take some telling, boy. There are three tribes of Blackfoot: the
Sik-si-kau,
which means the Northern Blackfoot; the
Kainah,
which means Blood; and the
Pikuni,
meaning Piegan. I mostly been with the Piegan Blackfoot. I like them better than most folks I knowed. They’ve a code of honor that we could all benefit by. Don’t get me wrong; ifen they’s ever crossed, they strike with a vengeance. They have several chiefs, but the head chief is chosen for his wisdom, bravery and generosity. They break up into small groups during the spring, then come together again before winter sets in. Right now the Piegans, the tribe my wife come from, are led by a chief that’s meaner than sin. Name’s Running Elk. He kills just for the fun of it, I been told. I think the Piegans would just as soon not follow him, but he holds on to them somehow. I don’t reckon he will be chief too much longer though.”

Joanna swallowed a lump of fear. Tag’s face held a look of excitement, and Franny’s eyes were filled with concern.

“Tell us about the Blood Blackfoot, Farley,” Tag urged.

“Ah, yes, the Bloods. They be the ones I knows the least ’bout. They have them a young chief who they follow blindly. I don’t know too much ’bout this young buck—he’s surrounded
with mystery. His own people is in awe of him. I ain’t seen him but once. He’s a handsome devil with the strangest eyes I ever seed. He walks around like some young god, and his people almost thinks he is one.”

“What’s his name?” Tag asked, caught up in Farley’s stories.

“Name’s Windhawk,” Farley replied, chewing on his tobacco.

“Will he come here?” Tag wanted to know.

“I kinda doubt it. He don’t show himself that much, leastwise to white men.”

“Tell me more about him,” Tag urged.

The old trapper closed his eyes in thought, and when he opened them, he smiled at Tag. “Like I said, I don’t know much. I heard something once but I don’t know as it’s true. I’ll throw it at you folks and you can judge for yourself.”

Joanna noticed that other people from the wagon train had gathered around, and they all listened intently as the old man started to speak.

“I heard tell he ain’t no more than twenty-seven summers. Don’t know if he’s married or not. Them Blackfoot sometimes take more than one wife, especially if they be considered wealthy, which Windhawk be. They count their wealth in horses, and I heard tell he has over five hundred. Don’t know if it’s so or not, don’t know if it ain’t. He lives in a big lodge in the middle of the village. Some say his lodge is big enough to hold fifty men. Don’t know if that’s true neither.” Farley scratched his head. “The tale I’m about to tell you was told me by a Blood Blackfoot. It was said in the winter of eighteen-thirty, the Blackfoot was starving to death. They sent out scouts far and wide to find the great herds of buffalo, but they all returned without never sighting nary a one of ’em. It was said that Windhawk was but twenty summers then. He went to the great chief, Running Wolf, who was his father. It’s said the old chief was dying at that time. Windhawk told his father he’d seed a vision of a
Tomeksihsiksinam,
which means white buffalo, and in his vision he were shown the way to find that there animal.”

Farley stroked his beard. “The Blackfoot put great store in
their visions. Every young buck will go off by himself and fast ’til he has a vision. They make what they calls a medicine bag, which is said to have very powerful medicine. The young warriors will never go on a hunt or raid without their medicine bags. Anyway, it was said that Windhawk saw this vision about the white buffalo, so the old chief told him to take many warriors and find this buffalo. Now the white buffalo is sacred, and not too many Indians have ever seed one. I doubt any white man ever had the privilege. The Blackfoot will never eat its meat, but offer it to Napi, their God. The story goes,” Farley continued, “that it took many weeks and the Blackfoot covered many hundreds of miles before they found them a small herd at the foot of the Rocky Mountains. And sure ’nough, among the herd was one of them albino buffaloes. They tell that Windhawk got off his horse and walked among them great beasts until he came to the white buffalo. The animals moved apart and made a path for him. When he reached the sacred beast, he raised his spear and plunged it into its heart without no trouble. The others watched in awe as the young Windhawk cut out the albino’s heart and ate it. You know good and well that no Indian would ever dare to eat any part of the white buffalo, fearing what might happen to them.”

Tag’s eyes were glued to Farley’s face, taking in the old man’s every word. “What would happen to someone who ate the meat of the white buffalo, Farley?” he asked.

Farley looked at the eager young face, happy to have such an interested audience. “Who can say, boy? Nobody but Windhawk ever ate the forbidden meat, far as I knowed.”

“Was Windhawk harmed because he ate the heart of the white buffalo?” Tag inquired.

“Not so far as I knowed, but then Windhawk ain’t no ordinary man, or so they say.”

“What did he do with the remainder of the white buffalo?” Joanna wanted to know. “Did he eat that, too?”

Farley smiled at the beautiful young girl. “The remainder of the white buffalo was hung in the branches of a tree as a
tribute to Napi. The next morning Windhawk told the others that they would return home where they would find them a large herd of buffalo grazing near their village. If any of them braves doubted his words, they soon found out he was right, ’cause when they come within shouting distance of the village, there was the largest herd of buffalo ever seed. It is said that it took from sunrise to sunset just for them to pass. The old chief declared that Windhawk would be chief when he was gone, and there weren’t none who disputed his right after that. Now I ain’t saying it’s true, and I ain’t saying it’s not. All I know is that he has been the greatest chief the Bloods has ever knowed. Like I said, they be in awe of him. I knowed that for a fact. It’s been said that his enemies fear him and his people love him. I’ve seen that for myself.”

“It sounds just like a tale from a book,” Tag said.

“Oh, Windhawk ain’t no imaginary person. He’s real flesh and blood all right,” Farley spoke up.

Joanna tried to imagine what the man Windhawk would look like. Was he just a figment of Farley’s imagination, or did he actually exist? She tended to think Windhawk couldn’t possibly be a real person.

“Do you think there will be any danger to the people of the wagon train?” one of the men asked, thinking the old man must be crazy after all.

“Can’t say for sure, but I kinda doubt it. Windhawk don’t like for his Bloods to drink the white man’s liquor, or so they say. The Indian can’t take liquor like a white man. It makes them crazy. Clifford at the trading post has made sure all his liquor is locked up. He ain’t taking any chances with so many women and children about. Besides, as you knowed, it ain’t lawful to sell spirits to the Indians, though I knowed plenty of traders who aren’t above it.”

The old man stood up and ambled off, mumbling to himself. He left without even saying good-by. Joanna watched him until he was swallowed up by the night shadows.

Each person was caught up in his own thoughts. They would be hopelessly outnumbered by the Indians, and they wanted to
believe that Farley had spoken the truth when he said they wouldn’t be in any danger.

Later, as Joanna and Franny were spreading their pallets inside the wagon, Franny spoke up. “Well, Miss Joanna, the fat’s in the fire now. Seems to me that the road we have been forced to travel has been a bit bumpy lately.”

“I know, Franny. I’m sorry to have involved you and Simon in my and Tag’s problems.”

Franny had been spreading a quilt to make the pallet softer, and she stood up and placed her hands on her hips. “What are your troubles if they aren’t mine and Simon’s? Haven’t we been a part of this family since long before you was born?”

Joanna smiled fondly at the older woman. “So you have, Franny. I can wager you never thought your loyalty would take you to Indian territory.”

“Humph, maybe I prefer an Indian to that aunt and uncle of yours.” Franny handed Joanna a pillow and climbed out of the wagon. “I’ll make Master Taggart’s and Simon’s bed under the wagon. You’d best get some sleep. Tomorrow will be here soon enough.”

Joanna smiled to herself. What would she have done if it hadn’t been for Simon and Franny? As she pulled on her long white nightdress, Joanna felt a prickle of fear run like icy fingers down her spine. Her thoughts were troubled, and she feared for the safety of the wagon train.

Tag popped his head into the wagon. “Joanna, do you think we will see Windhawk?”

“Let’s hope not, Tag. I want you to stay near the wagon for the next few days.”

“Can’t we watch the games, Joanna?”

“No! I want you to promise you will not disobey me. These Indians are dangerous. You heard what Farley said.”

Tag yawned and turned away, thinking he would find a way to see the horse races. He just had to.

Joanna picked up her brush and began brushing her red-gold hair. She was tired, but doubted she would sleep a wink, for fear that the Indians would swoop down upon them in the
night. Soon, however, her eyes closed and she drifted off to sleep. She wasn’t even aware when Franny lay down beside her.

Quiet settled over the wagon train as all the campfires went out one-by-one.

That night, Joanna’s dreams were disturbed by nightmares. She dreamed of a wild, beautiful Indian who rode with the swiftness of the wind. She never quite got a clear glimpse of his face, but he seemed to beckon her to follow him. In her dream he told her his name was
Windhawk!

Windhawk stared at the darkened skies. There would be no moon tonight, and the thousands of stars lent no light to the darkened shadows.

His keen hearing picked up the sound of footsteps, and he knew his boyhood friend, Gray Fox, was approaching. The two men stood silently for a long while, until at last Gray Fox spoke.

“I sense about you an uneasiness, my friend. Are you troubled?”

“You know me very well, do you not?”

“I know you as well as any man can. You are a man of deep secrets and mystery.”

“You are mistaken. There is nothing mysterious about me. I am a man like any other.”

“No, my chief, you are like no other man. I believe that Napi saw in you a man of great power and wisdom, and he has chosen you to guide our people through these troubled times. I am not alone in this belief, for it is shared by all your people.”

Windhawk placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “If that is so, then you and the others put too much faith in me. I am but a man who has feelings as you do.”

“If that is the truth, my chief, why, then, do you not take unto yourself a wife? I have two wives, and you have not even one, yet we are of the same age. Have you found no maiden whom you favor?”

“No, I have not yet found the woman whom I would choose to walk beside me and bear me sons. Until I find her I will have no other.”

“I have heard your mother say that you are too selective. There are many who would walk beside you should you make the offer.”

“I will not allow my mother to speak of this, nor will I talk with you about it. I search for the woman I could love, but I have not found her.” Windhawk’s voice was but a whisper, and Gray Fox could almost feel the pain in his words. He decided it would not be wise to pursue the conversation so he changed the subject.

“What is troubling you, my friend?”

Windhawk was silent for so long that Gray Fox thought he wouldn’t answer. At last he spoke.

“How can I tell you of this feeling that is deep inside me when I do not myself understand it. It is a feeling so strong that it is with me all day, and awakens me at night so I cannot sleep.”

“What kind of feeling?” Gray Fox asked, puzzled.

“I do not know. It is as if I am waiting for something to happen.”

“Waiting for what?” Gray Fox asked, not understanding Windhawk’s words.

Windhawk raised his face to the heavens. “I know not what it will be. I only know it will not be long in coming.”

“Do you think it will be bad?”

“I know not.” Windhawk turned to his friend. “But I would ask something of you. Should anything happen to me I would wish you to see that my mother and sister are cared for. I would ask this of no one but you.”

Gray Fox was disturbed by Windhawk’s words. He loved him as a brother and honored him as he had never honored
another man. Although they had been boyhood friends, Gray Fox was still in awe of his chief.

“Should anything bad befall you, I will treat your mother and sister as if they were my own,” he vowed solemnly.

Windhawk reached out and rested his hand on Gray Fox’s shoulder. “I know why I have chosen you as my friend. Each time I have asked something of you, you give without question.”

“I only gave back what you have always given me. I love you as I do my brother. I honor you as my chief.”

Both men lapsed into silence. Windhawk raised his face once more to the heavens, and Gray Fox stared at his profile. Here was a man that others looked up to. They heeded his words and followed wherever he led. Never had there been a man such as he. If anything happened to him, no one could replace him. Gray Fox felt fear in his heart. Windhawk seemed to sense his friend’s thoughts and turned to smile at him.

“All rests in the hands of Napi. It does no one good to predict the future. We can do no more than wait.”

“It is as you say, this I know.”

“We will reach the trading post tomorrow,” Windhawk said, changing the subject.

“I am surprised that you consented to come to the games. You have not done so before.”

“I would not have come this time, but my destiny awaits me. I could do no more than follow.”

Gray Fox watched as Windhawk walked over to where the horses were tethered and patted the neck of his great black stallion. Although Windhawk had many horses,
Puh Pom,
^*
was his favorite. Together the two of them defied nature and raced the wind.

“Come, my friend, it is time to get some sleep. Tomorrow will soon be here,” Windhawk told him.

That night Gray Fox’s thoughts were troubled. What destiny awaited his chief? What force had persuaded him to attend the games? It was well known that Windhawk didn’t like
Running Elk, the chief of the Piegan Blackfoot, and he liked the white man even less. Windhawk’s pallet was not far from where he lay, and Gray Fox could sense that he too was having troubled thoughts.

Joanna made her way through the camp. She smiled and waved to several people. She had grown to know the other families of the wagon train very well. They had been through many hard times together. Joanna had formed a strong bond of friendship with most of them. As she passed the Phillips’s wagons, Amanda Phillips fell into step beside Joanna.

“If you are on your way to the trading post, I’ll walk along with you,” Amanda said.

“Good, I welcome your company. I am searching for Tag, and if I know him, he’s sitting around listening to Farley weave his Indian yarns.”

“Joanna, are you scared with all those Indians descending on us tonight?”

“I’m terrified. Simon told me that Captain Thatcher is taking every precaution by posting extra guards day and night.”

“Speaking of Captain Thatcher, I know something about him that you don’t suspect.”

Joanna looked sideways at Amanda. “I know that he is to be stationed at Fort Leavenworth, and only agreed to lead the wagon train as far as Independence.”

Amanda giggled. “That has nothing to do with what I know. Do you think the captain is handsome?”

“Yes, but I am not alone in that. I think half of the young girls on the train are enamored of him. I suspect that Claudia Maxwell has captured his heart though.”

Amanda stopped in her tracks and gave Joanna a disbelieving glance. “You can’t see what’s right before you, can you? Everyone but you knows that Captain Thatcher can’t keep his eyes off you.”

Joanna was astounded by Amanda’s statement. “That’s not true. I have hardly spoken two words to Captain Thatcher since I first met him.”

Amanda smiled and linked her arm through Joanna’s. “I know. The captain told my brother Frank that he was afraid to approach you.”

“Why?”

“He said that you were so beautiful that you must have many beaus back in Philadelphia.”

“Now I know you are teasing me, Amanda. I am neither beautiful, nor do I have any beaus back in Philadelphia.”

“Anyone can see you are beautiful, but are you telling the truth about having no gentlemen friends?”

“I can assure you it is the truth,” Joanna said looking at Amanda who was petite and pretty. Her coffee-colored hair enhanced her soft gray eyes. “Since we are handing out compliments, I think you are the pretty one, Amanda.”

Amanda’s face lit up. “Do you really mean that? You wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true?”

“I can assure you, it’s the truth. Tell me, are you perhaps one of Captain Thatcher’s admirers?”

“Goodness no! I think he’s handsome, but I would be frightened to death of him. He’s so…manly. No, I have my eye on Robert Gorden.”

“Yes, he’s nice. Do you think he likes you?”

“I think so,” Amanda blushed. “He says he does.”

By now they had reached the trading post, and just as Joanna suspected, Tag was inside with Farley. Amanda gave Joanna a sideways glance as Captain Thatcher walked over to them.

He removed his hat and placed it under his arm. “Good morning, Miss James, Miss Phillips. It looks to be a fine morning.”

Joanna assessed the captain closely. He was tall and indeed very handsome. His hair was blond and his eyes were a clear blue.

Harland Thatcher had wanted many times to speak to Miss James, but he always felt like a fool when he was around her. She was so lovely, and miles above any woman he had ever known. He, like the others on the wagon train, knew very
little about her background. All he knew about her was that she was from England and was traveling with her brother and two servants to join their father in Oregon.

Taking his courage in hand, Harland blurted out, “Miss James, I wonder if you will be going to the dance tonight?”

“I don’t know, Captain. I thought the dance might be canceled because of the Indians?”

“No, ma’am. I thought it would be best if we were to carry on as normally as possible.”

She smiled, and Harland felt his heart racing with hope. “Yes, I believe you are right, Captain. I shall surely come to the dance tonight.”

His face lit up. “I wonder if you might honor me with a dance, Miss James?” he dared to ask.

“I would be delighted to dance with you, Captain. Now if you will excuse me, I need my brother’s help to lead the stock down to the river for water. Do you think there will be any Indians arriving this early?”

“No, ma’am, but if you would like I would be glad to accompany you to the river.”

“I wouldn’t dream of asking you to do such a thing. Tag and I can manage quite well.”

Joanna didn’t see the stricken look on Harland’s face, but Amanda did. She wondered how Joanna could be so blind. Couldn’t she see that the captain was in love with her?

Joanna and Tag led the stock toward the river. There were seven horses in all; four that they used to pull the wagon, Joanna’s gelding Fosset, Tag’s pony, and Simon’s bay. Joanna’s father had given Fosset to her for her sixteenth birthday. He was a beautiful solid white animal, that was sometimes wild and unpredictable, but Joanna was an excellent rider and could easily control him.

Against her better judgment, Joanna had given in to Tag’s pleading and allowed him to lead Fosset to the river.

It was late in the afternoon, and as they neared the river Joanna looked about carefully to make sure there were no
Indians. It was too quiet, and somehow eerie. There wasn’t the usual noise of the scolding birds in the branches overhead. Joanna glanced at Tag, but he didn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, so she dismissed her feeling of foreboding. She didn’t suspect that Tag was having trouble with Fosset until the horse had already dragged him into the water.

Rushing forward, she tried to grab hold of the trailing rope that was tied about Fosset’s neck, but the animal shied away, taking Tag along with him into the swirling current.

“Turn loose, Tag! Let him go!” Joanna yelled.

Tag tried to do as she asked, but by now his legs had become entangled in the long rope. With each movement Fosset made, he drew Tag into deeper water.

Panic raced through Joanna’s mind when she saw Tag being pulled under water. Forgetting about her own safety she plunged into the river. Her gown and shoes seemed to pull her under, and she struggled to reach her brother. She grabbed his arm and tried to pull his head above water, but his legs were so entangled in the rope that she couldn’t bring him to the surface. Joanna clawed and tugged at the rope, knowing if Tag didn’t get some air he would soon drown. After many futile attempts, Joanna realized she would never be able to free him without help. She was whimpering as she surfaced to take another breath of air. Tag was going to drown! she thought, diving under the water with renewed determination. Just when she thought her lungs would burst from lack of air, she felt a firm hand about her waist pushing her above water. The man removed his knife and sliced through the ropes, then pulled Tag to the surface.

It flashed through Joanna’s mind that the man was an Indian, but she was too grateful that he had helped Tag to be frightened of him. The Indian swam toward the bank with Tag, and by the time Joanna reached them, he had turned Tag over on his stomach and was pounding on the small of his back. Tag started coughing, and expelled the river water he had swallowed. Crawling over to Tag, Joanna hugged him tightly to her, thankful that he was alive.

Windhawk stood up and watched as the young girl cried and sprinkled the boy’s face with kisses. He had not seen her face, but he was staring at her hair. Never had he seen hair that color. Even wet, it resembled the dying rays of the sunset. He held his breath as she turned to look at him, and he felt as if his heart had stopped beating. Her violet-colored eyes seemed to look right into his heart. He wanted to look away, but he could not. Her face was beautiful and unlike any other he had ever seen. In that moment Windhawk knew he had met his destiny. This white girl was what he had traveled so far to seek! It was not his death that he had come to find, but his life. This was the woman who was fated to walk beside him. He felt no regret that she was white—it did not matter. She had been created for him. He wondered if she also knew that their destinies would be intertwined.

Joanna’s eyes were misty with tears, and she couldn’t see the Indian’s face very clearly. “I am so grateful to you for saving my brother’s life. How will I ever be able to repay you?” She smiled and Windhawk’s heart felt as if it had taken wings. He understood English very well although he had never spoken to a white woman. He knelt down and touched the boy’s head noticing that his hair was the same glorious color as his sister’s.

“It is not good, little brother, that the horse lead the warrior. The warrior must always lead the horse.”

Tag was too awestricken to speak, and could do no more than nod his head.

Joanna was now assured that Tag was going to be all right so she stood up, and Windhawk’s eyes followed her. He noticed the way her wet gown clung to her sweetly curved body. He stood up also, towering above her. Looking into his face, Joanna felt a lump come to her throat. Never had she seen a man of such power and strength. His face went beyond handsome. His dark eyes seemed almost liquid. She felt somehow as if she had known him forever. If there were other lives, as some people believed, perhaps she had known him in another time and place. It was such a strange feeling that Joanna shook her head to clear it.