Wild Innocence (26 page)

Black Hawk stood with his wrists and his ankles tied with sinew. A Sioux guard stood behind Black Hawk, ready to strike the Ojibwa if he attempted to escape. At a nod from a tribal chief, the guard shoved his captive, and Black Hawk fell to his knees.

Black Hawk faced them stoically. He didn't cry out or beg for mercy. He just stared at his captors with an empty expression, silently cursing his failure to find and kill He-Who-Kills-with-Big-Stick.

Runs-with-the-Wind said something to the chiefs, drawing everyone's attention. A man nodded and the rest agreed.

Runs-with-the-Wind then focused his gaze on Black Hawk. “My chief wants to know why you have come into our camp with your weapon drawn,” he said, referring to the fact that Black Hawk had his knife ready when he'd been captured.

“I'm not a threat to your people. There is only one brave whom I seek.”

The warrior looked surprised. “Who is this man? Or it is a woman?”

“It is the warrior He-Who-Kills-with-Big-Stick,” Black Hawk said.

“Why do you seek this man?”

Black Hawk drew in a sharp breath. “He killed my father. I have searched many years for him. I seek vengeance on the brave who took the life of a man I loved.”

Runs-with-the-Wind spoke to the chiefs, and there was much discussion among the men. Black Hawk sensed Clouds-at-Morning's intense regard, but he didn't acknowledge that he knew the Sioux, not by a look or a smile.

“How did you know where to come for the warrior?” Runs-with-the-Wind asked.

“I heard a tale from the village of my brother Red Dog.” He controlled his fury as he recalled the Sioux attack. “He was last seen by my people there.”

The volume of conversion rose among the council. The men quieted and one of the chiefs spoke. “Runs-with-the-Wind says that he knows you. He said you are a friend, yet you come into our midst seeking to kill one of us.”

“It is my father's honor!” Black Hawk exclaimed.

The chief nodded. “This warrior—did he kill in battle?”

“He did not,” Black Hawk said. “We were on a hunt. My father was about to make an offering to the spirits for the meat we'd received.”

“You were there?”

“Yes. I was eight summers. He-Who-Kills-with-Big-Stick did not see me, but I saw him.”

Clouds-at-Morning spoke to the chief in the Sioux tongue. Then the chief addressed Black Hawk again.

“Clouds-at-Morning says he has knowledge of your honor. That you do not kill needlessly. You kill only to defend or protect. Is this true?”

“It is not protection I seek when I came to this place,” Black Hawk said. “It is the blood of He-Who-Kills-with-Big-Stick.”

All the Sioux leaders began to talk at once. One, who appeared older than the rest, held up his hand to silence the council. Finally their conversation ended and this man, who Black Hawk later learned was Wise-Man-with-Gun, addressed Black Hawk. “We have decided on this matter, and you shall be allowed to fight this warrior.”

Another chief spoke, and Black Hawk, who knew enough Sioux to communicate if the words were spoken slowly and carefully, was able to make out what was being said.

The eldest chief seemed to agree with his peer, then gazed at Black Hawk. “You will fight He-Who-Kills-with-Big Stick,” he said. “It will be a fight to the death.”

Black Hawk smiled grimly.
A fight to the death.
The thought should have chilled him, but it didn't. This was the reason he had come.

The fight between the Ojibwa brave and the Sioux warrior began the next day at sunrise. The Sioux people gathered in a circle, in a clearing between teepees. The crowd was large around the two men.

He-Who-Kills-with-Big-Stick was not the old warrior Black Hawk had expected. The Sioux warrior must have been a young man when he'd tortured and killed the two Ojibwa men. Staring into the Sioux's eyes, Black Hawk recalled the man's cruelty and his laughter.

The warriors had stripped to only their breechclouts and moccasins. Their faces were painted with vermilion and black stripes. Black Hawk stared at his opponent and saw mocking laughter in the brave's eyes. Hate formed a ball of constriction in his breast as he clutched his knife. He wasn't surprised that He-Who-Kills-with-Big-Stick's chosen weapon was the war club.

Black Hawk stared at the club, then held up his hand to address the gathering. “I could use a war club,” he said. “Is there one among you who would give his weapon?”

A warrior stepped forward. Runs-with-the-Wind. “You may use my war club,” he said.

Black Hawk thanked him with a nod and took the club. In return, he handed the Sioux brave his knife.

“If I die, this knife is yours,” he said.

The Ojibwa brave examined the war club. The
bagamaagan
was a fine weapon with steel spikes, highly decorated with brightly colored paints. It was a club used for ceremonial purposes. He doubted it had ever been raised to an enemy that wasn't imaginary or symbolic. This day it would wound and kill another human being. It would kill He-Who-Kills-with-Big-Stick.

With his hand fisted about the long club, Black Hawk faced his enemy.

“You will die this day, Ojibwa,” his father's killer said.

Black Hawk laughed. “You will be the one who reaches the end of his path, dogface! Today I seek justice for the wrong done to my father and my father's friend. It is you who will suffer, He-Who-Kills-with-Big-Stick. You will die by your own weapon. You will scream for mercy before the earth ceases to exist for you!”

The men stood at each end of the circle's diameter, waiting for the signal from the eldest chief, Wise-Man-with-Gun, to begin.

The crowd jeered at Black Hawk and shouted encouragement at He-Who-Kills-with-Big-Stick.

Black Hawk stared at his enemy, his dark gaze burning with hate, his fingers flexing around the weapon's handle.

The signal was given, and the braves began to circle one another with clubs raised to defend.

He-Who-Kills-with-Big-Stick struck out first. Black Hawk was quick at the defense, deflecting the warrior's blow with an equally powerful swing. The Sioux brave grunted and stepped back, snarling. Black Hawk grinned and muttered insults to his opponent to incense the man.

The land was dry and dust filled the air as the braves fought. Black Hawk, seeing an advantage, swung toward the man's shoulder, cutting him with his weapon's spike.

He-Who-Kills-with-Big-Stick howled with rage and charged, swinging wildly. Black Hawk ducked and evaded, taking a blow to his arm but only with the Sioux's club handle.

The Sioux gathering grew quiet as the warriors pitted themselves against each other. Sweat dripped down Black Hawk's forehead, and he swiped it away from his eyes, leaving a streak of dirt mixed with war paint.

The spectators began to chant. Black Hawk ignored the sound, concentrating instead on his enemy. He gazed steadily into the man's eyes as he crouched and circled. He stared at the brave and laughed.

“You are a coward,” Black Hawk said, using his knowledge of the Sioux language.

He-Who-Kills-with-Big-Stick bellowed with rage. Black Hawk had planned a long time for this day. There was much he had to say to his father's murderer before the man died.

“You cannot win,” He-Who-Kills-with-Big-Stick said. “I am more powerful than you. You are nothing!”

Black Hawk snarled. “You kill only those who are defenseless, like women and children and men you can take by surprise.
You
are nothing!”

He watched the Sioux brave carefully, noting his weaknesses, using the man's anger to his advantage. A man blinded by anger was a man at risk.

“Come, Big Stick!” he said. “Come and get Bear Tooth's son. See if you can kill the son as you killed the father!”

“I can kill you with my hands tied!” Big Stick spat as he lunged and swung his weapon. Black Hawk crouched, and the club went over his head. He laughed, and the fight grew in fury.

The Sioux people were taking sides. Some of the spectators taunted Black Hawk, who wasn't bothered. Others jeered insults at Big Stick, who got angrier by the minute. So enraged was he by the taunts of his people and Black Hawk's deadly calm, Big Stick became careless in his attacks. He swung his war club wildly, missing Black Hawk after suffering a glancing blow to his side.

Blood welled to the surface of Black Hawk's skin where the Sioux's weapon had nicked him. Unaffected, Black Hawk remained steady and calm, determined to bring down his father's killer.

“You are not a murderer. ”
Rachel's word's appeared in his thoughts, startling him.
“Why start now?”

I will not give up this moment,
he thought.
I will finish what I've begun!

Although his attention remained on Big Stick, it seemed as if Rachel were there, watching.
You're going to get yourself killed!
she cried.

Does it matter?
he thought.
You are gone, Rachel. What do I have but this moment of vengeance!

Big Stick's club struck the side of Hawk's face. Black Hawk moved, but not quick enough, and the blow to the head made him dizzy. He-Who-Kills-with-Big-Stick's laughter egged him on. He blinked to clear his vision; and focusing on his opponent, swung and struck Big Stick's chest. The man screamed.

Black Hawk was satisfied by the move, until he imagined Rachel's voice again.
No, Black Hawk. I love you. Don't do this.

Go away! he thought. Angered by the tricks his mind had begun to play on him, Black Hawk focused again and swung at Big Stick's war club, sending the weapon flying out of the man's hands.

Throwing down his own club, Black Hawk lunged at his opponent, pinning him to the ground. The two fought in the dirt with sweat and dust streaking their muscled bodies, blood seeping from open wounds.

“I will kill you now, Black Hawk!” Big Stick cried as they struggled.

“You will die by my hand!” Black Hawk growled.

Big Stick shoved Black Hawk to the ground. Black Hawk rolled, then rose to a defensive crouch. He saw Big Stick's gaze go to his war club, and Black Hawk attacked the man before he had a chance to retrieve it.

With the Sioux's attention elsewhere for that fraction of a second, Black Hawk had won. With his arm across Big Stick's throat, Black Hawk pinned the Sioux to the ground. He saw the man's war club, grabbed it, and raised it to strike.

Rachel's words continually invaded his thoughts.

Black Hawk stared at the man he'd hated for so long. The Sioux could barely breathe as he gasped for air, his throat constricted by Hawk's arm.

Your father will not return because you killed this man.
Her soft voice continued in his mind.
Don't do this, Black Hawk.

Fear had entered Big Stick's expression as Black Hawk glared at him. The Sioux warrior couldn't move. The end of his life had come.

His chest heaving with the exertion of the fight, Black Hawk came to a decision quickly. He glanced up from his victim to search for the chief.

“I take this brave's life to avenge the death of my father,” he announced. “I take it and give it back to you, Wise-Man-with-Gun, for your keeping. Do with him what you wish.”

In so speaking, he released He-Who-Kills-with-Big Stick and stood. He had spared Big Stick's life. His father's murderer would go free, but Black Hawk felt relief. He could have taken Big Stick easily, but had chosen a different path.

The Sioux chief respected the act of honor. Black Hawk had won without taking a life. The people applauded him.

Black Hawk bent to retrieve Runs-with-the-Wind's weapon. Catching sight of the man, he gave him both war clubs. “You have given me the chance to free and honor my father's spirit,” he told the Sioux brave. “You are a friend.”

Runs-with-the-Wind nodded as he returned Black Hawk's hunting knife. The peace between their villages would remain unbroken, Black Hawk thought, pleased.

Clouds-at-Morning called out to Black Hawk, and the Ojibwa turned to the brave with a smile. As he approached, he heard someone cry out. A shot rang in the air. Big Stick fell to the ground, wounded.

Big Stick had grabbed a knife from another brave and had been ready to attack Black Hawk.

All eyes went to the young Sioux warrior holding the trade gun.

The brave, who was still a boy, addressed his people. “This man deserves to die,” he said. “He has acted dishonorably. He has hurt our young braves.”

Black Hawk saw the flash of pain on the young warrior's face. “He has hurt
me
,” the boy said.

Everyone in the crowd began talking at once until the old chief silenced his people.

Wise-Man-with-Gun's expression was angry as he studied the boy who had shot Big Stick. “You have been hurt by this man?”

The brave nodded. “I have.”

“As have I!” A younger boy stepped from the crowd.

“And I!” another child shouted.

The chief looked shocked. “What is this? Why has no one told this?”

“He threatened to kill me,” the brave with the rifle said. “I was a little child when he hurt me. And he said he'd kill me if I told.”

There were gasps and murmurs from among the people.

“Let him die!” one mother cried.

“Kill him!” another shouted.

Black-Hawk-Who-Hunts-at-Dawn left the Sioux gathering without killing his father's murderer, but he had had his revenge.

With the new revelations about his actions, He-Who-Kills-with-Big-Stick was a dead man.

 

 

Three days after her return home, Rachel was back to work at the mission. Miriam Lathom had taken over the work at the infirmary in the Dempseys' absence. The missionary had been happy to see Rachel and the doctor safe. She'd given them a list of patients with notations about their ailments, before she'd left with the promise to return to assist them anytime they needed her.

“I have chores to do,” Miriam had said, “but I will help you again if you need me.”

This early autumn morning, Rachel walked through the infirmary and saw that everything was as it should be. She had prepared the surgery for the day's work yesterday. There wasn't anything else for her to do, so she wandered into the waiting area. The room was spotless. With no patients in sight, Rachel headed toward the kitchen to wash the breakfast dishes.

“Any tea left?” her father asked as he entered the room.

She smiled at him, glad that they were together again. “I can make another pot.”

“That's all right. I'll be heading over to Freda Jenkins's house. Seems the woman had a slight accident with a kitchen knife, the same knife that Will Thornton got cut on. Miriam bandaged and cleaned the wound. She didn't think it needed stitching, but I want to take a look at it.”

Rachel had known about the accident and understood her father's desire to check on his patients, although she was sure that Miriam would have sewn the cut if she'd thought it'd needed it.

“Will you be gone long?” she asked him.

“No, I'll be back shortly. After our absence, I don't want our patients to think we've abandoned them.”

“All right, Father.” Rachel smiled.

As she worked to clean up the kitchen after the morning meal, Rachel wondered where Black Hawk was. Was he all right? Had he found his killer?

She paused in drying a dish and closed her eyes. “Black Hawk, please don't get yourself killed.”

She had never said good-bye. He'd left so quickly. Her heart gave a lurch. He must have seen Jordan. Is that why he hadn't stayed?

No,
she thought,
he probably slipped away because he was in a hurry to leave. He's waited a long time to find the Sioux brave, He-Who-Kills-with-Big-Stick.
He would have been anxious to depart, before the Sioux warrior moved on.

Wondering about Black Hawk, worrying that he was all right, was pure agony for Rachel.
I can't stop loving him just because he didn't stay.

This morning when she'd awoken, she'd learned that she'd gotten her womanly courses. She was unhappy that she wasn't to have Black Hawk's child. It was probably for the best under the circumstances, but knowing that didn't make her feel better. She wanted to have Black Hawk's baby. She wanted the baby as much as she wanted the child's father.

But it wasn't to be. There would be no babe and no Black Hawk in her life.
Lord, please, keep him safe.

A noise out in the front rooms attracted Rachel's attention as she was finishing up in the kitchen. She left the back rooms and headed toward the surgery. For a brief moment, she experienced a moment's fear as memories returned. She was reminded of their Sioux visitors, of her father's kidnapping and the events that had followed ... and all because of an Indian brave's attraction to her.