Savage Autumn (6 page)

Windhawk watched silently as her cheeks became lightly flushed. Her skin was a soft ivory color, and he resisted the urge to reach out and touch her. He wished her hair were not wet so he could see its true color.

Joanna shyly offered him her hand. “How can I thank you for giving my brother’s life back to me? I will always be grateful to you.” Her voice was soft and musical. She even made the grating English language sound beautiful, he thought.

Windhawk hesitated before he took her hand. When their hands touched, Joanna felt a tingling sensation racing through her body.

“I…do not wish the thanks.” He stared at her so long and hard that Joanna felt uncomfortable. Windhawk saw her discomfort, and he released her hand and turned back to Tag.

“Are you a Blackfoot?” Tag asked.

“Yes.” Windhawk nodded.

“Have you got a tomahawk?”

Windhawk smiled. “Yes.”

“I’d rather have a tomahawk than anything else in the world.”

Windhawk touched Tag’s head. “First become a man, little brother, then you can have the tomahawk.”

Windhawk turned and plunged into the river where he gathered up Fosset’s reins and led the horse from the water. He handed him over to Tag, and then walked away, soon to be swallowed by the thick bushes and trees that grew along the river bank.

Joanna might have thought she had imagined the whole thing, but for Tag’s enthusiasm. “Did you see how tall he was? I bet he could throw a tomahawk better than anyone else.”

“I don’t doubt it,” she replied, staring at the place where he had disappeared. Somehow she felt a loneliness, as if she had lost something very precious. Joanna thought she had either been out in the sun too long, or else she was losing her mind. Perhaps her strong reaction to the Indian had been because he had saved Tag’s life. Yes, that was what it was, she reasoned.

Joanna began rounding up the other horses, and this time she put Tag in charge of the team animals, while she led the reluctant Fosset back to camp.

Windhawk watched Joanna from among the bushes. What was her name? he wondered. He knew that he would see her again. Their paths were destined to cross, and one day she would belong to him. Had she felt the oneness between them as he had? He turned away and mounted his horse, riding back across the river, and downstream, where his warriors had already set up camp. For the first time in days his spirits were light. For the first time in his life Windhawk felt love in his heart for a woman. He had found the woman who would one day belong to him!

Before nightfall everyone in camp knew about Joanna’s and Tag’s adventure. Tag hadn’t wasted any time spreading the word that he had been rescued from drowning by a Blackfoot Indian.

Franny had scolded both Joanna and Tag over their misadventure. She demanded that they remain in camp until the Indians had gone. The Indians would be leaving in three days, and the wagon train would be pulling out the day after that.

The music from the fiddles filled the air when Joanna and Amanda walked into the circle of light, where several couples were already dancing. Joanna had put on a pretty blue and white print gown and tied her hair back with a blue ribbon.

The first person Joanna encountered was Claudia Maxwell. From the beginning of the trip, Joanna had known that Claudia didn’t like her, and although she couldn’t understand the reason for her dislike, it hadn’t bothered her overmuch.

Claudia now favored Joanna with a poisonous glare. “You sure know how to get yourself noticed, Joanna,” she said spitefully. “Who but you could set the whole camp up in arms with her escapades?”

Joanna’s temper was rising, but she just managed to hold it
in check. “Oh, you know how it is, Claudia. When I want a little attention, I just ask my brother, Tag, to try drowning.”

Claudia’s face became distorted with anger as Joanna and Amanda walked away. She jealously stared at Joanna’s gown, wishing she had a gown half so nice. Claudia had been trying to capture Captain Thatcher’s attention ever since she had first met him, but he always seemed to be watching Joanna.

“Goodness, you know how to go for blood, Joanna. Many’s the time I’ve wanted to put Claudia in her place, but you did it with such style,” Amanda said.

“I know I was horrid, but she makes me so mad sometimes.”

“I don’t like her at all. She’s a pretty girl but her actions make her unlikable,” Amanda said thoughtfully.

“I suppose we should pity her,” Joanna said.

“You pity her if you like, Joanna. I just plain don’t care for her.”

Captain Thatcher saw Joanna approaching. He straightened his blue dress jacket and smiled at her. “I half feared you wouldn’t come tonight after the incident at the river, Miss James.”

“I received no more than a good soaking, Captain,” she said, smiling up at him.

The fiddle was playing a lively jig, and Captain Thatcher asked Joanna to dance. The two of them danced until they were breathless. When Joanna wanted to sit out a dance so she could catch her breath, Captain Thatcher sat beside her.

“I am wondering if you just came over from England, Miss James?” Harland asked, wanting to find out more about Joanna.

“No, as a matter of fact, we have lived in this country for some time.”

“In Philadelphia?”

“Yes, we lived on Beacon Street.”

“You don’t say! I was born and raised on Carlson Street just one street over. Strange we never saw one another.”

Before long, the two of them were talking about music and books. It seemed they shared the same tastes in many things.

Joanna was having fun and was unaware that other eyes watched her. One pair of eyes stared at her jealously. Claudia felt as if Joanna had stolen Harland Thatcher from her. The other eyes that observed her were dark and brooding. Windhawk watched from the distant shadows, hating the long knife soldier who dared touch his woman. Was the man her husband? he wondered.

“I thought I saw you walk in this direction, my friend,” Gray Fox spoke up. His eyes followed the sound of the music. “It is strange, the white man’s dance, is it not?”

“I do not like it,” Windhawk answered. “It is not good for a man to hold in his arms another man’s woman.”

Gray Fox looked more closely. “Do they dance with someone’s woman other than their own?”

“Do you see the young maiden with hair the color of flames?”

“Yes, I see her. She is dancing with the long knife with the yellow hair.”

“She is not his woman.”

“How do you know this?”

“She is the one I told you about.”

“You said that she was very beautiful, but I cannot see her face from here. Her hair is a wondrous color, though. Are you sure she is not the woman of the yellow hair?”

Windhawk turned away, not wanting to watch any more. He felt betrayed because the flaming-haired one danced with the long knife. He was angry with himself for caring.

Joanna allowed Harland to accompany her to her wagon. As they walked along she could tell he had something on his mind.

“I had a lovely evening, Captain Thatcher,” she said, offering him her hand.

“I…have never enjoyed myself more than I did tonight, Miss James. I wonder if you would allow me to call on you again sometime?”

“I suppose so,” she told him. “Yes, that would be nice.”

He smiled and his eyes lit up. Harland had always had his
share of beautiful women, but this time was different. For the first time in his life, he had met a woman for whom he would gladly give up his freedom.

“Good night, Captain,” Joanna said, turning away.

Harland’s thoughts were happy ones as he made his way to his wagon. He would have all winter to woo Miss James at Fort Leavenworth.

Windhawk stared across the river, wondering which of the many wagons the flaming-haired one slept in. What was she doing now? Was the long knife her husband? Was she now lying in his arms? Was he touching her, making love to her? He felt an ache deep inside.

“You are my woman, and I will have you,” he whispered. “No one can take you from me, not even Napi himself.”

*
The Lightning.

Taggart lay on his stomach peering through the thick growth of some evening primrose bushes. He could hear the sounds of laughter coming from the other side of the river. Even though he had been cautioned by Joanna and Franny not to go near the river, he had conveniently forgotten their warning. More than anything, he wanted to catch a glimpse of the Indian who had saved his life.

Tag’s friend, Bobby, was hunched down behind the trunk of a cottonwood tree, his eyes wide with fright. He wished Tag would tire of gazing across the river so they could return to camp.

“Come on, Bobby, you are acting just like a silly old girl. There isn’t anything to be afraid of,” Tag told him.

“I ain’t coming out from behind this tree. Them Indians won’t like you spying on them.”

“These aren’t bad Indians. You know about the one who saved me from drowning. Besides, if they wanted to, they could
have already raided our camp. Mr. Clifford says that there are over a hundred Indians camped on the other side of this river. They outnumber us, and yet they haven’t done us any harm.”

“Ma would give me a licking if she found out I had come to the river. I ain’t about to let them Indians see us spying on them.” Bobby said, hunkering down lower.

“I can’t see anything from here,” Tag said, standing up. “I think I’ll cross the river so I can get a closer look.”

Bobby blinked his eyes in disbelief. “You can’t do that! Them Indians will scalp you for sure!”

“If you are afraid, stay here,” Tag said, rolling up his trouser legs and wading into the river.

Bobby jumped to his feet. “You ain’t going to cross the river! You’re crazy!”

Tag hesitated. He was afraid, but he didn’t want Bobby to know it. “I got me a good knife, and I want to see if I can trade it for a tomahawk.”

Bobby’s eyes brightened with admiration. He wished he could be as brave as his friend. He had visions of Tag being scalped, and he shuddered. Nothing on this earth would persuade
him
to cross that river.

“I’m gonna tell your sister on you, Taggart James. She’ll give you a licking,” Bobby threatened.

“No, you won’t,” Tag said, wading into deeper water. He felt the taste of fear, and wished he hadn’t made such a big show of bravery. He couldn’t back down now, though. He thought about the tomahawk he could trade for, and that gave him the courage to continue.

“Tag, come back!” Bobby realized he had raised his voice, and he held his breath, expecting any moment to see a group of wild Indians bearing down on him and Tag. He hit the ground hard, and then crawled behind the tree trunk to hide. Peering carefully around the tree, he watched as Tag waded out of the river on the other side.

Tag ducked behind a tree, thinking how foolish he had been to cross the river. His heart was drumming in his chest. It had been easy to act brave with the river between him and the
Indians. If he went back now, Bobby would still think he was brave. With that intention in mind, Tag started back to the river but he had only taken a few steps before he was grabbed from behind and someone clamped a hand over his mouth. Tag was too paralyzed with fear to put up a struggle. The Indian threw him over his shoulder and carried him toward his camp. Bobby had witnessed his friend’s capture. He buried his face in the grass and covered his head with his arms, fearing any moment the Indians would cross the river and discover his hiding place. After a few moments he decided he was safe, so he jumped to his feet and ran back to camp as if the devil himself were chasing him.

Windhawk, and Running Elk, the chief of the Piegans, were standing in front of a tipi when one of Running Elk’s warriors brought Tag forward and tossed him to the ground in front of them.

Tag scrambled to his feet and looked about him wild-eyed. He recognized the Indian who had saved his life and gave him a nervous smile.

“What is the meaning of this?” Windhawk asked the brave who had captured Tag.

“I found this boy hiding behind a tree,” came the reply.

“Were there others with him?” Running Elk asked.

“No, my chief, I watched him cross the river alone. There was another boy, but he did not cross.”

“What shall we do with him?” Running Elk asked.

Tag could understand nothing that was being said. His knees were shaking so badly he was sure the Indians were witnessing his cowardice.

The man who had saved his life knelt down beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him a reassuring smile. “Why have you come among us, little brother?” he asked in English.

“I wanted to watch the games, and I wanted to trade my knife for a tomahawk,” Tag replied, sounding braver than he felt.

Windhawk stood up and spoke to Running Elk. “I know this boy. He is the same one I pulled out of the river. I will allow him to watch the games.”

“He is white!” Running Elk challenged.

Windhawk drew Tag closer to him. “I saved his life, therefore, I am responsible for him. He will watch the games.”

Running Elk looked as though he would like to disagree with Windhawk, but he didn’t. No one ever challenged Windhawk!

“Come with me,” Windhawk told Tag.

Tag no longer felt fear. His eyes sparkled brightly as he walked beside the tall Indian. Bobby was going to be sorry he didn’t come with me, Tag thought. His mind was racing ahead to the stories he would tell his friend when he got back to camp.

Tag watched several horse races, and showed his excitement by clapping his hands. The tall Indian explained to him that the one who won the race also won his opponent’s horse.

The Blackfoot were superb horsemen and performed many tricks while on horseback. Tag particularly enjoyed the race where an Indian on a pinto was matched against an Indian on a big roan horse. The man on the pinto pulled into the lead, then turned around backwards on his horse and taunted his opponent by motioning for him to try and catch him.

Tag laughed delightedly into the eyes of the tall Indian.

Windhawk smiled. The small boy was very brave. He placed his hand on the red curls, thinking how like his sister the boy looked.

When Bobby reached the Jameses’ wagon, he was so out of breath he could hardly speak. Joanna was peeling apples, and she smiled at him, but her smile quickly vanished when she saw his face.

“Come quick, the Indians have got your brother! I watched them take him away. I think they were going to scalp him!” Bobby blurted out.

Joanna gripped his shoulders tightly.

“Where! Where is my brother?”

By now many of the women had heard the commotion and had gathered around Joanna.

“The Indians got him. I told him not to cross the river, but he wouldn’t listen to me!” Bobby cried.

Joanna tried to swallow her fear. Without stopping to think about what she was doing, she bounded onto Fosset’s back.

“Merciful heavens,” Franny cried, wringing her hands. “What will they do with my boy?”

Joanna looked at Franny. “Don’t worry. I’ll bring him back.” She whirled Fosset around and rode off in a cloud of dust, heading for the river.

“Joanna, you come back here right this instant!” Franny cried, but her cry went unheeded. With Fosset’s great strides, Joanna had already neared the river. She didn’t slacken her pace as she entered the river, but forced Fosset onward with an urgency. She didn’t give a thought to the danger she might be riding into. All she could think of was that Tag was in trouble and she must help him.

As Joanna rode up the bank on the far side of the river, she was immediately surrounded by half a dozen fierce-looking Blackfoot warriors. Fosset reared on his hind legs and pawed at the air, but one of the Indians grabbed his reins and easily subdued him.

Joanna felt great fear and trepidation as they led her away from the river toward their camp. She took a deep breath, ready to face what lay ahead. Holding her head high, she tried not to look at the half-dressed savages.

Silence fell over the crowd of Indians as she was led to a large tipi. One of the Indians pulled her roughly from the horse and shoved her forward. She stumbled and fell at the feet of the man who was obviously the chief.

If she judged correctly the man would be somewhere around her father’s age. His dark eyes rested on her flaming hair, then he looked into her violet-colored eyes.

Joanna stood up slowly and faced the man defiantly. She had once heard that Indians admired bravery, and she was
not about to allow them to see how frightened she really was. Tag’s life might depend on the way she handled herself.

“I have come for my brother,” she said, fearing her courage would desert her.

Running Elk looked Joanna over from head to toe. Never had he seen a white woman of such beauty. He judged by the color of her hair that she was related to the boy, and he knew she had come to take him back. He admired her courage, for it would take a woman of great bravery to face danger alone. In that moment Running Elk knew that he must have this woman. There would be trouble with the whites at the trading post, but the Blackfoot greatly outnumbered the whites. Yes, he would fight for her if he had to.

“Take this woman to my tipi,” he said, nodding to one of his braves.

Joanna was grabbed roughly by the arm and shoved none too gently inside the tipi. She landed hard on her stomach, and it took her a moment to catch her breath. She stood up slowly and walked over to the opening. When she tried to leave, an Indian blocked her path and motioned for her to remain inside the tipi.

She now realized how foolhardy she had been to ride into the Indian camp alone. The Indians now had two captives. Where was Tag, and what were the Indians planning to do with her? she wondered. Joanna tried not to think of all the stories she had heard about white women who had been captured by the Indians.

Sitting down, she buried her face in her hands. She had not rescued Tag, but had become a prisoner herself. Surely Simon and Captain Thatcher would come for her and Tag. But what could they do? They would be badly outnumbered. If only she could see Tag and know that he had not been harmed.

Gray Fox had seen the white girl as she was being led into camp by Running Elk’s warriors, and recognized her as the girl Windhawk had told him about. He knew that Windhawk
would not be well pleased that the girl was being held captive by Running Elk.

“What will you do with the white girl, Running Elk?” Gray Fox demanded.

“She is mine. I will keep her.”

“Windhawk will be angry if you harm this girl. She is the sister of the boy he pulled from the river,” Gray Fox threatened.

“She belongs to me. My warriors took her.”

“I would reconsider if I were you. It is not wise to defy Windhawk.”

Running Elk knew that Gray Fox spoke the truth. Only a foolish man would go against Windhawk. There would be another time to take the girl. Soon Windhawk would return to his lands, and then no one would stand in his way. It did not please him that he must back down in front of his warriors, but later he would have the girl.

“Take her,” he said sourly. “It seems to be your lot in life to walk in the shadow of Windhawk.”

Gray Fox didn’t answer the insult. He moved to the tipi and flung the flap aside. His eyes fell on the girl with the flaming hair, and her beauty touched his heart. He saw the fear in her eyes, and he wanted to assure her that he would not harm her.

“Come with me. I will take you to my chief. You have no cause for fear,” he told her in perfect English.

Joanna stood up and eyed him suspiciously. “I want to see my brother.”

“I will take you to him.” He reached for her hand and led her out of the tipi.

Joanna blinked in the bright sunlight. She expected him to lead her to the man whom she thought to be the chief. She saw the chief watching her with something in his eyes that frightened her.

Gray Fox saw her look of inquiry. “No, that is Running Elk, chief of the Piegans. He is not my chief.”

Joanna felt overwhelming relief when the Indian took her away from the frightening man. She received many startled
glances as Gray Fox led her through the crowds. She felt the taste of fear like a bitter pill in her mouth. The crowds parted, and suddenly Joanna saw Tag. He was standing beside the man who had rescued him from the river!

Tag saw his sister and ran to her. “I have been watching the games, Joanna!” he said excitedly.

Joanna was too relieved to see that Tag was safe to scold him. That would come later. For now she placed her arms about him and hugged him tightly. “You are going to be the death of me, Taggart James,” she said, wanting to shake him thoroughly.

Tag lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry, Joanna. Are you very mad at me?”

“I believe I will allow you to stew about that. You deserve to be punished, don’t you think?”

At that moment a sudden gust of wind caught Joanna’s bonnet and sent it sailing through the air, and it landed at Windhawk’s feet. He picked up the bonnet and walked slowly toward the flaming-haired girl.

Joanna watched his approach, and she felt his dark eyes burn into hers. Her heart was racing, and it had nothing to do with fear.

When he reached her, his eyes traveled over her red-gold hair. It was windblown and curled about her lovely face, then cascaded down below her waist. Napi had done his best when he created this woman, for Windhawk could see no flaw in her. It must have taken a great deal of courage to ride across the river to find her brother, he thought.

Looking deeply into her violet eyes, he could see his own reflection, and it startled him. Her eyes were like the water reflecting an image. In that moment he wished that his image would always be reflected in her eyes.

Without taking his eyes from hers, he extended the bonnet to her. Joanna took it and her fingers brushed against his. She felt the sparks of electricity as she had the other time he had touched her.

“I want to apologize for coming to your camp uninvited. I came for my brother.”

“Bravery is in the sister, as it is in the brother,” Windhawk told her.

“May I know your name?” Joanna asked, almost shyly. She now knew that she and Tag were in no danger. This tall Indian would never harm her; she could see it in his eyes.