The Guardian (17 page)

The pouch dropped into her hand. For a moment Charity cradled it in her palm, feeling the rich, seductive weight of the nugget it contained. Then, with an odd lightening of her spirit, she wove the leather laces into the tangled locks of the pinto's mane and tied the pouch securely where Black Sun would be sure to find it. That done, she shouldered the cradleboard once more, blinked away her tears and nudged the horse's flanks.

The aromas of bacon, beans and coffee drifted on the evening breeze as Charity neared the circle of wagons. She could hear faint voices and the sound of laughter. She swallowed the choking fear that rose in her throat. A whole new life lay ahead for her and Annie. She could not turn back now.

Something was spooking the pinto. It snorted and laid back its ears, balking and dancing with every step. Too many unfamiliar smells and sounds, Charity thought. As soon as she knew it was safe, she would dismount and let the stalwart little horse go back to its master.

If only she could go with it.

Outside the circle of wagons, a lantern bobbed in the darkness. As she rode closer, Charity could make out the form of a woman stooping to gather buffalo chips for the fire. Watching her, Charity could not help remembering how many times she'd performed that same task herself.

Not wanting to startle the woman, she slipped off the horse, caught its tether in her hand and then walked forward. “Hello!” she called softly.

The woman raised the lantern and peered into the darkness. The dancing light revealed a plain, middle-aged face crowned by a bristly knot of hair. “Who's out there?” she demanded. “Show yourself afore I sic the dog on you!”

“It's only me and my baby.” Charity moved into the edge of the light. Her voice quavered as she forced herself to mouth the words she'd rehearsed. “I—we got away from some Indians. I was hoping we could join you. I'm willing to work for my keep.”

“Work, eh?” The woman raised the lantern higher. “That'd be a nice change. Ain't nobody else much inclined to work 'round here exceptin' me. Come on in closer, so's I can have a look at you.”

Heart pounding, Charity took a tentative step forward. The nervous horse, however, was in no mood to follow her. Snorting and dancing, the pinto jerked the lead out of her hand and, finding itself free, wheeled and bolted away.

Charity swallowed a cry. The little pinto had been her last link to Black Sun, and now that link was broken. When the horse returned to him, he would go his own way. She would never see his face again.

Now there could be no turning back. She would have no choice but to ingratiate herself with these strangers and hope they would give her shelter.

“Guess that pony of yours didn't like the looks of me!” The woman laughed coarsely as she brought the lantern nearer. “Well, never mind. Some of the boys can round him up in the morning. Here, let's have a look at you, girl. Is that Injun garb the only dress you got?”

“The only one that isn't in rags.” Too late, Charity remembered that her old clothes had been rolled up in the buffalo robe on the back of the horse. The garments were unwearable, but their condition might at least have given credence to her story.

“You say you run away from the Injuns? Is that there papoose you're packin' a half-breed?”

A tide of outrage swept through Charity, dizzying in its ferocity. If Annie had been Black Sun's child, she would have been proud of her daughter's heritage and would never have tolerated such language. But the truth was simple enough, and she could not afford to alienate the woman.

“My husband was a missionary,” she answered calmly. “He was killed when the Blackfoot attacked our wagon train. This child is his daughter.”

“A preacher's widow! Well, I'll be!” The woman
snorted with laughter. Holding the lantern close, she peered at Annie. “She looks white enough to me. And you look like you could use a hot meal and a good night's rest. My name's Mamie Sloan, and them that's with me are my boys and their women. Come along and warm your bones at the fire, girl, and you can tell us your story.”

Murmuring her own polite introduction, Charity followed the bobbing lantern toward the circle of wagons. There was nothing to fear, she assured herself. Despite her coarse manner, Mamie appeared to be a good-hearted soul. The other travelers were likely the same. They would treat her and Annie with the kindness accorded any stranger in need.

Still, as they neared the wagons, she found herself glancing back toward the wooded hills where Black Sun would be waiting for the pinto to return.

What would he feel when the little horse came trotting riderless up the slope? Relief? Regret? Would he understand when he discovered the pouch with the gold nugget tied into the horse's mane?

Would he forgive her then?

The baby had begun to cry. It was too soon for her to be hungry, but something was clearly bothering her. Charity eased the cradleboard off one shoulder and shifted it to the front of her body, where she could hold it in her arms. Annie's small face was the color of a radish. Her eyes were flooded with baby tears and her nose needed wiping. Charity made do with a scrap
of petticoat she had tucked among the folds of the buffalo skin.

“That young'un had better not cry all night,” Mamie said, scowling back over her shoulder. “Folks here don't take kindly to being kept awake.”

“She's just tired,” Charity said, her uneasiness mounting. “She'll sleep fine once she's fed and changed.”

“Well, gettin' her out of that papoose carrier might help,” Mamie said. “And one of the girls should have a dress that'll fit you. You been livin' with them Injuns too long, missy. We need to get you lookin' like a white woman again. You'll be right pretty once we get you fixed up.”

Something about her words struck Charity as strange, but she shrugged off a sense of foreboding as she followed Mamie into the ring of firelit wagons.

She was greeted by a circle of curious eyes. Three slick-looking men with similar wolfish faces sat on a log by the fire. They were passing a jug back and forth among them. When they lowered it, their lips gleamed wet and red.

“Hey, Ma!” one of them shouted. “When's them beans gonna be ready? My belly's growlin' something fierce!”

Mamie raked a string of dirty gray hair back from her face. “Let it growl, Abner!” she snapped. “I can't tend to all of you at once!”

Two younger women lounged against the side of a
wagon. They might have been pretty except for the hard-looking lines that framed their eyes and mouths. They wore matching calico dresses with the bodices unbuttoned to display their ample bosoms. One had a mole on her cheek and tight wine-colored curls. The other, a sultry brunette, was smoking a long black cigar. They gazed at Charity with eyes that were oddly glazed, saying nothing.

Charity found herself glancing around almost desperately for children. If there were children, surely there would be some trace of innocence in this place. But there was no sign of children to be seen. Only the sad-eyed hound, who thumped its tail when she looked at it, showed any sign of true good will.

“Well, now, what we got here?” The man called Abner grinned as he looked Charity up and down. “Appears you brung me a present, Ma. You know I like 'em blond. And that Injun outfit's right clever.”

“Leave her alone, Abner,” Mamie snapped. “She's offered to earn her keep, and she'll do it just like the other two, soon as she's had a chance to rest and clean up a bit.”

“But that ain't to say I can't break her in first an' ride her whenever the fancy suits me.” Abner unfolded his lanky body and sidled over to where Charity stood clasping Annie in her arms. He smelled of sweat and whiskey, and his grin showed a mouthful of rotting teeth. “You don't look like no squaw to me, sweetie. Where'd you git that yellow-haired papoose, eh?” He
reached out a hand to touch Annie's hair, but Charity jerked the cradleboard out of his reach.

“Don't you touch her!”
She spat the words at him.

Abner laughed. “Feisty one, eh? Well, you won't be so high and mighty when you're earnin' your livin' on your back, girlie. Wait and see. You'll beg me to be nice to you then.”

Charity stumbled backward, fear and rage swirling like bile through her body. Beads of cold, sick sweat broke out on her skin. She had overheard talk about rolling brothels that plied the wagon trails, luring men with whiskey and women. The tales of debauchery, often followed by robbery and murder, had been so gruesome that she'd refused to believe them—until now.

“No!”
The word exploded out of her. “I won't do this! You can't make me!”

Wheeling, she made a dash for the nearest break in the circle of wagons. But the other two men had left the fire and moved to block her way. With grinning mouths and pitiless eyes, they surrounded her. The two younger women looked on, making no move to interfere. Their expressions remained vacant, as if they might be drunk or drugged.

The man called Abner pulled an ugly, long-bladed knife from the sheath at his belt. His eyes glittered as he used the tip to clean the filth out from under his thumbnail. He took his time, toying with her fear, knowing she was trapped.

“You'll do whatever we tell you to, girlie,” he said with a smirk that was pure evil. “And don't you drag your heels or try to cross us. You do and, by the time we get through with her, that sweet little baby of yours won't look so pretty anymore.”

T
HE SOUND
of hoofbeats reached Black Sun's ears where he waited in the twilight. Rising to his feet, he sprinted down the slope to the fringe of the woodland, where the aspens thinned into scrub. His eyes scanned the flatland, straining to pierce the dusk.

Anxiety gnawed at his vitals. In spite of the coldness between them, hope still flickered that Charity would return with the packhorse. Their separation had come too soon, like an early, killing frost. He hadn't been ready to let her go. The truth was, he would never be ready. Whether he liked it or not, she and Annie had become part of him. They had become his family.

He could see the little pinto now, trotting up the slope through the brush. Something shattered inside him as he realized there was no rider. Charity had decided to stay with the wagon train.

He shouldn't have been surprised by her decision, Black Sun told himself. He had treated her with cold contempt, telling himself it was for the best. Now there was nothing left but the emptiness of knowing how wrong he had been.

If Charity and the baby were here, he would gather them into his arms, hold them close and let the healing begin. But it was too late for that now. They had already passed beyond his reach. He could only wish them a safe journey and a happy life.

As his eyes caught the flash of the mottled hide through the shadows, something struck Black Sun as strange. The pinto had barely been gone for the time it would take to reach the wagon train, turn around and trot back. Somehow that didn't seem right. He imagined Charity riding up to the circle of wagons, dismounting, glancing around, and then immediately turning the pony loose. She had made her decision quickly, he thought. Almost too quickly.

By the time the pinto reached him, Black Sun had already begun to worry. When he saw that the buffalo robe, with her old clothes inside, was still rolled up and tied to the horse, his gut clenched with the premonition that something was wrong.

Had the horse spooked and bolted before she could unload her things, or had she simply decided she didn't want them? He couldn't assume either answer until he knew more.

The pony edged closer and nuzzled his chest, wanting attention. Black Sun stroked the sturdy neck, his thoughts elsewhere until, suddenly, the back of his hand brushed something solid and heavy.

His pulse jerked as his fingers closed around the amulet pouch.

The nugget was still inside—there could be no mistaking the shape or weight of it. And it had not caught on the pony's neck by accident. When Black Sun tried to tug it free, he discovered that the ties had been braided into the tangled mane and securely knotted into place. He puzzled over this as he freed the pouch and looped it around his own neck. Charity had obviously meant to return it to him. But was it a peace offering, a farewell gift or a cry for help?

Leaving the pinto to graze, he sprang onto the tall dun horse, swung it toward the wagon train and kneed it to a gallop. He would never rest, he knew, until he'd made certain Charity was safe.

As he rode, Black Sun's mind spun out a tentative plan. He would tether the horse a short distance from the wagons and try to get close enough to see Charity. If she appeared safe, he would watch from a distance until the camp had settled into sleep. Then he would find her and quietly tie the amulet in its rightful place on Annie's cradleboard.

Would Charity understand the return of the amulet and see it for the token of forgiveness it was meant to be?

Would she realize what he truly wanted to say—that he loved her, and that if she chose to come back to him, he would welcome her with an open heart?

He was nearing the wagons now. Dismounting, he tethered the horse to a clump of sage. Except for the whisper of windblown grass, the night was eerily silent. Too silent, he thought.

The horse snorted, flattening its ears and pulling at its tether. Black Sun had always believed that animals, with their pure spirits and keen instincts, had a strong ability to detect evil. Maybe that was what had sent the pinto bolting away, leaving Charity on foot.

Black Sun felt his own instincts prickle as he crept forward. The evil, he sensed, was there in the wagon train, surrounding Charity and her baby. He could only pray that he'd arrived in time to save them.

He had covered less than half the remaining distance to the camp when he heard a sound that made his heart stand still.

It was the faint, frenzied crying of a baby.

 

C
HARITY SLUMPED AGAINST
the wagon wheel where Abner Sloan had tied her. The women had taken Annie away and put her in one of the wagons. As far as Charity knew, no one had harmed the child. But Annie had never been left alone before. She was getting hungrier and more frightened by the minute. Her pitiful baby wails tore at Charity's heart.

“Oh, please!” she begged her captors. “Won't you at least let me feed her?”

Sprawled around the fire, the Sloans and their two women looked up from their plates of beans and Dutch oven biscuits. “You'll get your chance, sweetie,” Abner said, leering at her. “After you've been nice to me and my brothers here, you can feed your little brat to your
heart's content. We'll even give you a bite of supper, won't we, Ma?”

Mamie Sloan did not reply. Was she remembering how it had been to have babies of her own? Was she thinking about how much they'd needed her and how she would have done anything to protect them? Or was the woman long past recalling or caring?

“You're a mother, Mamie,” Charity pleaded. “You know what it's like to love a child! Please, in the name of decency, tell your sons to let me have my baby!”

Mamie gazed at her with empty dishwater eyes. “My boys is grown men,” she muttered. “They do what they want.”

Annie was screaming her heart out now, as only a hungry, abandoned and terrified baby can scream. Charity twisted against the ropes that bound her to the wheel until her wrists were slimed with blood, but the knots had been tied from the inner side of the wheel and they held fast. Even if the Sloans hadn't found her small knife and taken it away, she could never have cut herself loose.

How long would the Sloans let Annie cry before they ran out of patience and hurt her or even killed her? Not long, Charity knew. If she wanted to save her daughter, she had only one choice—to give her captors what they wanted. They could easily hold her down and take her by force. But they seemed to be enjoying this cruel game. Until they grew tired of it, heaven willing, they would let Annie live.

Charity had told herself she would die for her baby. If she could face death, then she could endure this ordeal. But after her time with Black Sun, letting the Sloans touch her would be like killing her own soul. She didn't want to think about who and what she would be by the time they finished with her.

Abner was through eating. With a gassy belch, he tossed his tin plate to the ground and unfolded his skinny frame. Taking his time, he ambled over to Charity and stood grinning down at her. Firelight gleamed on the pistol that hung at his belt. She imagined getting her hands free, wrenching the gun out of the holster and shooting him between the eyes. But she wouldn't do that, Charity knew. The others would still have time to get to Annie.

“Well, pretty girl,” he said. “Why don't you show us how much you want that caterwaulin' brat?”

Charity glared up at him like a trapped animal, sickened by the thought of what was to happen next. “I hope you don't expect me to do it with my hands tied,” she said in a voice that dripped acid. “That wouldn't be much fun, would it, now?”

Abner's grin broadened. Murmuring an obscene phrase that Charity willed herself not to hear, he pulled his knife out of its sheath and squatted down beside her. The rope had been threaded through the wheel and pulled from behind, lashing her wrists so tightly against the spokes that there was no room to insert the blade. The only way for Abner to cut her free would be to
reach around the wheel, beneath the wagon, and ply the knife there.

“Careful.” Charity's voice was as spiritless as Mamie's. “You wouldn't want me to bleed on that lovely shirt, would you?”

Abner glanced down at his shirt, which was finely made and obviously stolen. The once-elegant cream linen was streaked with grease and tobacco stains. The cuff of the right sleeve was a grimy black where he'd used it to wipe his nose and mouth. He grinned up at Charity as he reached behind the wheel to cut the rope.

“Funny little bitch,” he said. “I like funny lit—”

The words ended in a gurgle as iron fingers clamped around his wrist and jerked him under the wagon. In the next instant Charity felt the rope drop away from her wrists.

“Stay right where you are, all of you!” Black Sun's voice barked from beneath the wagon. “I've got your friend here. One wrong move and I'll slit his throat!” His voice dropped. “Get your baby, Charity! Then get to the horse and get out of here! Don't stop for anything—not even me!”

Charity was already on her feet. Annie's cries flooded her ears as she plunged toward the wagon where they'd hidden her baby.

She did not see what happened next. She'd reached inside the back of the wagon and had the cradleboard in her arms when a man's voice screamed, “I'll git 'im, Abner!” There was a scuffling sound. A pistol shot
rang out in the darkness. The silence that followed was broken only by the sound of Annie's whimpering.

Turning with a liquid, nightmarish slowness, Charity saw one of the Sloan brothers slumped beside the wagon with a smoking gun in his hand. Her heart crawled into her throat as she saw the figure of a man lying facedown beneath the wagon in a pool of blood.

Then she saw the glint of firelight on a dirty white shirt and the muddy boot sticking out from under the wagon. It wasn't Black Sun she was looking at. It was Abner Sloan.

Roused from her glassy-eyed stupor, one of the women screamed. “Oh, Lord, you shot your own brother, Jess! You shot Abner!”

Mamie rose, trembling, from her place next to the fire. “Well, don't just stand there!” she hissed. “Git that bastard under the wagon!”

Realizing, suddenly, that Black Sun had lost his hostage, the two surviving brothers edged around the wagon with their guns drawn. At first Charity couldn't see Black Sun. Then she glimpsed a shadowy form beneath the wagon box and realized he was still there. Why hadn't he gotten out? Had the bullet that killed Abner hit him, as well?

His pain-roughened voice, rasping out from the shadows, answered her question. “Run, Charity! Get to the horse…ride out of here…and don't look back!”

The brothers danced closer, waiting for a clear shot. Charity knew she should run, but her feet
seemed rooted to the ground. She could not leave Black Sun to die. There had to be something she could do.

Then she remembered the tiny pistol—Rueben Potter's pistol—that she'd tucked beneath the padding in Annie's cradleboard.

Her fumbling hand closed around the small, cold weapon. The gun had no bullets, but none of the Sloans would know that.

Mamie's attention was focused on the wagon. Slinging the cradleboard over one shoulder, Charity lunged for the woman, hooked one arm around her throat and jammed the pistol against her temple.

“Throw your guns down!” she shouted at the brothers. “Do it now, or your mother's a dead woman!”

The two men turned toward her, stupefied. The women, sprawled by the fire, stared openmouthed. Even the hound curled its tail between its legs and slunk out of sight.

“Do what she says,” Mamie snapped. “I don't aim to end my days by havin' my head blowed off.”

By the time the pistols thudded on the trampled grass, Black Sun had rolled free of the wagon and come around from the far side. Blood was trickling down his ribs and his face looked gray, but his grip on the pistol he'd taken from Abner's body was firm and steady.

“Get their guns, Charity,” he said. “We'll make sure they can't follow us. Then we're getting out of here. It's time to go home.”

 

C
HARITY WOULD REMEMBER
that night for the rest of her life. After leaving the Sloans with their horses scattered and their shoes flung over the prairie, she and Black Sun had ridden the dun horse back to the foothills where the little pinto waited.

Black Sun's wound had proved not to be serious. The bullet had indeed passed through Abner's body and into his own flesh, but it had not gone deep. Charity had removed it easily and dressed the wound with elder bark. Then they'd ridden until the moon was high, both of them wanting to distance themselves from the horror of the outlaw camp.

At last they'd found a sheltered glade beside a fine silver ribbon of stream. Charity had fed Annie while Black Sun tended to the horses. Then they'd spread the buffalo robes on the ground and fallen into each other's arms.

They hadn't made love that night—both of them were too exhausted for that. But as she'd lain with her head pillowed against his shoulder, listening to the soft rush of his breathing, Charity had known with soul-deep certainty that she'd come home. Wherever Black Sun's life was destined to take him, she and Annie would be there to share it.

Annie would not have an ordinary childhood—and certainly not the sort of upbringing the canyon's wealth would have provided. But she would have a happy childhood, filled with love and laughter and the beauty of the outdoors. She would be raised with a
knowledge of both the Arapaho world and the white, so that when the time came she would be free to choose one or the other…or both.

They'd escaped the Sloans more than two weeks ago. Since then, they'd traveled steadily eastward. As he'd done countless times during their trip, Black Sun halted the horses on a low ridge. On the broad plain below, surrounded by a lush sea of waving grass, she could see the clustered lodges of the Arapaho camp. After more than a fortnight of riding, they had finally reached Black Sun's people.