The Holy Warrior (30 page)

“Why in the world did you tell him to do that?” she asked.

“Watch and learn,” he said. Removing his hat, he let the slight breeze cool his forehead. He kept his eyes half closed, but they were never still, always moving from point to point across the terrain as his muscles relaxed and he leaned back against one of the stunted trees.

Missy did watch, but it wasn’t the terrain; it was the wind blowing his hair. “Your hair’s too long,” she remarked. “Why don’t you have Dove cut it for you tonight.”

“All right.”

They sat there for half an hour, saying nothing. Finally she lay back and closed her eyes. Almost at once she fell asleep, and was startled when he spoke quietly, “Missy, wake up.”

She sat up quickly. “What’s wrong?”

He pointed to where Sky was hidden and she saw three small antelope nervously approaching the flag that was
whipping in a brisk breeze. They would come closer, their long necks outstretched, stamping their tiny hooves nervously, then bolt—only to return at once to the flag.

“Why are they doing that?” Missy whispered.

“Just curious.”

Suddenly the silence was broken by a shot, and the largest animal was knocked to the ground. Sky came running out, crying, “I got him!”

“Come on,” Chris said, pulling Missy to her feet. “We’ll bring that one in and let him get another.” When they reached Sky he was kneeling beside the antelope, stroking the horns. His eyes were wide with admiration as he looked at his father. “Bear Killer is also a hunter of antelope!”

“Don’t have to be much of a hunter for this,” Chris grinned. He picked up the carcass with a grunt. “They say curiosity killed the cat—but it works on these critters, too. They don’t learn very fast. Hour or so, and they’ll be back to look at that flag. You want to get another one, Sky?”

“Yes!”

They left him and went back to the shelter of the shade. All morning they stayed there, enjoying the solitude and the silence. Just before noon, Sky got the second animal, and then he begged to get one more. “I guess one more will be enough for the whole train,” Chris responded. “Need to get back for supper.”

All afternoon they waited, relaxing under the trees, napping from time to time, and talking hardly at all. It was almost three when Chris spoke up. “Have to go soon.”

“It’s been nice, Chris. Thanks for letting me come.”

She was sitting beside him on the large rock, and when she turned to speak to him, their faces almost touched. Her nearness made him aware of her softness. She was relaxed and happy, her dark brown eyes quiet and her blond hair streaked with the sun. She had loosened her hair, and now it lay in abundance over her shoulders, framing her face. Chris had never seen Missy look so beautiful, so intensely feminine.
She smiled and put her hand on his arm, saying, “It’s been a wonderful day.”

Her touch and her presence struck him powerfully, and he was stirred by old memories of another time spent together... the time when she was to be his wife. The temptation was almost more than he could stand. Perhaps that was why he did what he did. It was an involuntary movement as he put his arms around her, pulling her to him, then kissed her softly. She did not draw back nor heed the still small voice that seemed to be making a protest.

He kissed her once more, his pulse racing. In that moment his conscience was seared and he released her and hastily stood up. Catching the hurt in her eyes, he said in a hoarse voice, “Missy! I’m sorry!”

With a trembling hand, she pushed her hair back, unable to speak. She looked away, absorbed in thoughts of her own for a long time. Finally she stood up and murmured gently, “It’s all right, Chris. I—I guess we knew this wouldn’t be easy. I shouldn’t have come.”

She could see the pain and frustration reflected in his eyes. “It’s a hard thing,” he acknowledged, “but God can give us the strength we need. He has to or—” The crack of Sky’s rifle was a welcome distraction, and they hurried away from the shade.

Overjoyed at the successful hunt, the travelers celebrated that night. They camped early and the smell of fresh meat cooking was so strong you could almost taste it. Ellen Schultz had Karl unload the cast iron stove, and with the small supply of wood she baked six apple pies. The Spencers brought out a small keg of cider—everyone brought something—and when they had eaten till they could hold no more, they lay back and listened to Barney’s fiddle singing in the night air.

Only Ring Tanner did not join in the fun. He ate none of the fresh meat, but drank steadily and sullenly from a jug.
As the night wore on and his tongue got looser, he began to make comments about Indians. Although his eyes were fixed on Dove and Sky, everyone knew the remarks were directed at Chris, who grew tenser by the moment.

Casually Barney sauntered over to Chris, letting his words fall quietly. “Watch out fer Ring. He said before, he’s goin’ to tree him a coon. And he was lookin’ at you. Don’t fight him, Chris.”

“Do all I can not to.”

But Tanner got louder and he shuffled over to the Schultz’s stove, his eyes red-rimmed with drink. “Be glad when we get to Mandan country,” he said, raising his voice loudly. “Mandan squaws are the best there is. Long legged and
real
friendly-like.”

“Tanner, that will do!” Small commanded. “There are ladies here.”

The big man leered at Chris. “Guess you got your share, didn’t you, Winslow.” He grinned. “Black Elk mebbe got the best of that squaw, but she’s still—” Chris stood up.

“I’d think real careful how I finished that if I were you.” The warning was spoken softly, but there was something dangerous in Chris’s tone that made the others look at one another nervously—although Ring was too drunk to catch it.

“That squaw? Why she bedded down with half the Sioux nation, Winslow!” Tanner jeered.

Sky was standing back in the shadows, his eyes black as midnight. He stepped closer to the big trapper, and his voice rang clearly in the air. “You lie!”

Big as he was, Tanner was fast as a cat. He took two long steps and caught Sky with a blow of his open hand that slammed the boy back against the wagon. Then with a wild yell he rammed Chris with the full force of his weight.

A hard fist caught Chris high on the temple, setting off an explosion in his brain, and driving him to the ground. He remembered to double himself over to guard against the kick he knew was coming. Tanner’s foot struck Chris in the
small of the back, and he managed to grab the leg and give it a twist. Tanner fell, giving Chris time to get up and give his head a shake to clear it. The second time Tanner came at him, Chris struck him in the stomach, jerking the man’s feet out from underneath him as he broke backward, half bent over. Tanner hit the ground, twisting like a cat, and scrambled to his feet.

“Here’s my coon!” he yelled, and made a forward run, which was cut short when Chris stooped low and clipped Tanner across the waist. Gripping the man by the legs, Chris stood and threw his opponent sideways onto his back. Chris waited for Ring to get up; then he swung at him but missed as Tanner dodged and struck Chris full in the mouth, ripping his mouth with the force of the fist. Staggering, Chris took a kick to the kidneys, rolled against Tanner’s legs and brought the man down. Falling on Ring, Chris thrust his knee into the man’s belly and his forearm over Tanner’s windpipe, and pressed down hard. Tanner’s fingernails slashed across Chris’s face, leaving long welts as he thrashed around, trying to unseat the preacher. Chris raised his right arm and clubbed Tanner’s neck. The man went limp, and Chris shoved himself to his feet.

“Come and get your coon, Ring,” he taunted. For a moment Chris’s tall, dangerous shape swam before Tanner’s dulled eyes. The man knew he was beaten. Tanner pressed his lips together, feeling bile rise to his throat as Chris motioned toward the circle that had formed. “Let him out of here.”

They all watched as Tanner got up and moved painfully toward his horse. He shakily put the blanket on it, every movement slow and careful, then crawled up and sat down, bone-weary. He kicked the animal forward and pulled at the rifle that was in a scabbard.

The sound of a cocked pistol made him reconsider. Chris had pulled his weapon and trained it on the man. “Go on—ride out, if that’s what you want, Ring.”

As much as he wanted to shoot this Indian-lover, Tanner
knew he didn’t have a chance. “I’ll kill you, Winslow!” he snarled; then he turned his horse and disappeared into the darkness.

Chris never wavered, holding the gun steady. His beaten nerves cried out and his legs quivered. His mouth was bleeding, his ear and face had been raked by Tanner’s fingernails; the broken skin across both rows of knuckles made it hard to grip the gun. It wasn’t until the sound of the horse’s hooves died off that Chris relaxed enough to look at his son. “Are you all right, Sky?”

“Yes.” The boy came closer and looked up at Chris with a burning light in his eyes. Dove approached Chris and took his hand gingerly. “Let me clean your wounds.”

Chris allowed himself to be led away. When the two were out of earshot, Barney expressed his thoughts to Caroline and Missy. “They was both tryin’ to kill. I wasn’t surprised at Ring—but I didn’t think Chris would git that crazy!”

“He had no choice!” Missy’s voice was harsh and she discovered that she could not stand up. She sat down again quickly and squeezed her eyes shut, resting her head in her hands.

Barney’s eyes scanned the darkness that had swallowed the trapper. “Have to keep a guard all the time, now. Tanner’s mean—low down as a snake in a wagon track.”

The others were talking rapidly, and Small wrung his hands. “He’ll have to come back! We’re lost without him.”

Schultz shook his head. “He is no goot, dat von! Better he is gone!”

Spencer looked over to where Dove was tending to Chris’s cuts and bruises. “Looks like it’s up to Christmas,” he remarked. “We’re all babies out here.”

Tennyson nodded. “That’s about right, John. Far as I can see, nothing Tanner said about this trip has worked out. I wish we’d gone by boat the way Brother Winslow said.”

The words affronted Aaron Small, and he retorted angrily, “Tanner will be back! He won’t desert us!”

“He left his partner to die,” Lorene Spencer told him. “Why would he do any different for us? Especially now...”

The group continued to argue, most of which Chris could hear as Dove worked on his wounds. “I’ll get a hot stone and wrap it for your mouth.” She smiled proudly. “You fight for us.”

“Sure.”

In the dim light he could see the traces of her early beauty. She touched his bruised lips and smiled again, then went to get the stone.

Chris hurt all over. And it only got worse when he thought of what would happen in the days to come. He was the only one who fully grasped the trouble they were in; and he watched the small group milling nervously around, looking at him covertly from time to time, with some impatience.
I reckon now they expect me to get them out of this mess—they must think I’m a magician.
The odds were heavily against them, he knew, but there was no turning back. He raised his eyes to the pale stars and whispered, “Lord God, if we get out of here alive, it’ll be your hand—not mine—that delivers us!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“YOUR GOD IS STRONG!”

The Platte lay a hundred miles behind them, and Missy found herself longing for it. “It wasn’t much of a river,” she said to Chris late one afternoon, “but at least it was wet!”

“Another week and we’ll hit the Sweetwater,” Chris replied. “From there it’s not far to the Popo Agie—then we’ve got it made.”

“Sweetwater—what a nice name for a river!” she murmured.

Chris rested his hand on the steel rim of a wagon wheel, removed it quickly and stared at his palm. “It’s a nice stream—but I’d settle for just about anything in the way of a creek right now. We lost two more oxen today—one of Spencer’s and one of the Moore’s. That means no spares left.”

He relaxed and seemed reluctant to move. “Wish we’d get a breeze. This heat is hard on Dove—she looks awful pale.”

“She won’t eat, Chris. If we could just get a break in the weather.”

“Not much chance of that, but when we hit the Sweetwater, we’ll turn north. It’ll be cool in the Tetons, and by the time we get to the Yellowstone, we’ll be on high ground. Least then it’ll be cool at night.” He drew his shoulders back, took a deep breath, and said, “Guess I better give Barney a hand with Moore’s wagon.”