Savage Arrow Page 6

  If he saw them trembling, he might think it was from fear, when actually it was because she was so taken by him.

  “It . . . is . . . nice to see you again,” Jessie blurted out.

  “I am pleased also,” Thunder Horse said. Then he motioned with a hand toward Lone Wing. “This is my nephew. He goes by the name Lone Wing. Lone Wing, this woman’s name is Jessie.”

  “It is good to know you, Jessie,” Lone Wing said, beginning to understand why his uncle seemed so fascinated by this woman. Even Lone Wing could see how beautiful she was. And she seemed sweet, as his own mother was.

  “It’s nice to know you, too, Lone Wing,” Jessie said, reaching a hand out toward the boy, which he didn’t take. It was obvious he did not understand that her way of greeting someone was with a handshake.

  She again toyed with the reins.

  “Why have you stopped at the sacred rock of my people?” Thunder Horse blurted out.

  His abrupt question made Jessie’s smile fade. He wished now that he had not been so quick to demand an answer.

  “I was horseback riding and was drawn to this huge stone,” Jessie explained. Only now did she realize that she might have done something wrong in examining the stone. Obviously, it was something sacred to Thunder Horse’s people. “First I noticed, from a distance, that the stone was painted red, then when I grew closer, I became even more curious when I saw the many things on the ground around it.”

  “What you see are votive offerings,” Thunder Horse said, nodding toward small bags of tobacco, pieces of cloth, hatchets, knives, and a lone arrow. “There are certain stones such as this that are worshiped with prayers and offerings by my people.”

  “I apologize for coming here,” Jessie murmured. “I didn’t know about the meaning behind the red stone, or the gifts, or I wouldn’t have come close. I will not do so again.”

  “You can come often, if you so choose,” Thunder Horse said thickly. “The stone is there for everyone, not only us Sioux.” He reached his hands heavenward and motioned all around him. “In these things, the stone, the clouds, the trees, the buffalo, all things are one.”

  He ended with the sign for “all,” moving his right hand, palm side down, in a horizontal circle at the height of his heart.

  He had noticed that all the while he sat on his horse so close to Jessie, she kept placing her hand on her stomach.

  He had seen this before, when a woman with child felt that the child inside her might be threatened by something or someone. The thought of this woman possibly carrying Reginald Vineyard’s child was repulsive to him, for it surely meant that she was his wife . . . and absolutely forbidden to Thunder Horse.

  But besides that, he didn’t like to think that this woman felt threatened in his presence. He had told her more than once that he was a friend.

  And hadn’t he proved it to her? Had he not saved her life?

  The sound of an approaching horse and buggy, seen now in the distance, interrupted his thoughts. Thunder Horse recognized the deranged Reginald Vineyard by his tiny size. Could he truly be the husband of this woman who might haunt Thunder Horse with her sweet loveliness forever and ever?

  Thunder Horse wheeled his horse quickly around.

  “Hiyu-wo, come, nephew!” he said, giving Lone Wing a nod. “It is time to go. Quickly!”

  As he rode into a stand of trees with Lone Wing beside him, Thunder Horse could not stop thinking about how Jessie had placed her hand on her stomach. Surely she was with child.

  “Why did we flee so quickly?” Lone Wing asked. “I like the lady. You seemed to, also.”

  “Why did I decide to leave?” Thunder Horse said, continuing farther and farther away from where he felt he had left his heart. “Because the man who is approaching in that buggy is our toka, our enemy, Reginald Vineyard. I do not wish today to see him face to face.”

  “Is the woman then a toka, as well?” Lone Wing asked. “For surely she belongs to the man. He seems to be coming for her.”

  “I am not quite certain yet what to make of her,” Thunder Horse said, his voice tight. “Or what her true relationship is with that man. But in time I will find out, and then I will know how to act.”

  Lone Wing gazed silently at his uncle. He had seen in his eyes that he did care for this mitawin, whether or not she had skin the color of his enemies, and even if she belonged to the Fox band’s worst enemy of all: Reginald Vineyard!

  He could not help wondering how his chieftain uncle was going to act on that?

  Chapter Eight

  Jessie felt uneasy as Reginald rode up in his horse and buggy and drew rein close to her. His eyes seemed even more beady than ever as he glared down at her.

  When he glanced at the beautiful horse he had been generous enough to give her, then looked hard at her again, she could guess what he must be thinking. She knew he had seen Thunder Horse with her only moments ago.

  Reginald was probably thinking that she was taking advantage of his generosity to ride her horse to meet with another man. His next words confirmed her guess.

  “When did you first meet him?”

  That question, asked so suddenly and with such venom, made Jessie’s spine stiffen.

  She didn’t want to tell Reginald the truth of how she and Thunder Horse had first met. That was something she wanted to keep inside her heart like a wonderful secret . . . a secret that only she and Thunder Horse shared.

  That might be the only thing they could ever have between them.

  “Today,” Jessie said quickly, hating to lie.

  “Today?” Reginald scoffed, now glowering at her. “And I am to believe that? You must know it is not a normal thing for a white woman and a powerful Indian chief to come together as friends. It is forbidden in all respects.”

  “He just happened along and found me studying his people’s sacred stone,” Jessie said, refusing to back down. “I was horseback riding. I saw this strange stone painted red, and then when I got closer I saw all those things lying around it. I stopped and took a better look, and that was when Chief Thunder Horse and his nephew found me here.”

  “You say that name—Chief Thunder Horse—so easily, as though you have no fear of that Sioux warrior,” Reginald said, his eyes holding a strange twinkle, as though he had guessed Jessie’s feelings for Thunder Horse.

  “Why are you here?” Jessie blurted out, angrily placing her hands on her hips. “Are you going to watch everything I do . . . everyone I happen to speak with?”

  Reginald shifted nervously on the buggy seat. “I’m tired of this conversation,” he said stiffly. “But listen well to what I have to say, Jessie. That Sioux chief is someone you must stay away from.”

  “Why?” Jessie asked, slowly dropping her arms to her sides. “What on earth did it hurt to have a short conversation with him? He seemed kind enough. I did not feel at all threatened by him. And if you are going to preach to me about it being forbidden for a white woman to talk with an Indian, I call that hogwash.”

  “Hogwash?” Reginald said. His eyes narrowed even more angrily than before. “Jessie, the reason I am warning you to stay away from that chief is because we are bitter enemies,” he said tightly.

  “Enemies?” Jessie said. Then suddenly she recalled something that Jade had told her last night about Reginald’s nightmares having to do with an Indian’s curse.

  Could that Indian be Thunder Horse?

  “Why are you . . . enemies?” Jessie asked cautiously.

  “Never mind,” Reginald said flatly. “Like I said, I’m tired of this conversation. Get on your horse. I’m taking you into town.”

  “You’re taking me into town?” Jessie asked, mounting the beautiful white steed. “What is the occasion?”

  “I’m going to buy you a bonnet, that’s all,” Reginald said, idly shrugging. “Come on. I want to take you by horse and buggy. We must first go home before going to town. I want you to leave your horse in the stable.”

  “A bonnet?” Jessie said, quest
ioning him with her eyes.

  He ignored her question, turning the buggy around without waiting to see if she was following. He now seemed intent on returning the horse home.

  As she rode next to the buggy, she glanced over at Reginald. He was neatly dressed in his usual black suit and white shirt, with a thin black tie at his collar. His thinning reddish-brown hair, worn to his collar, was blowing in the breeze, revealing more scalp than she knew he wanted anyone to see.

  She would have thought that he was the one needing something to wear on his head, not her! But she had never seen him wear a hat.

  Why should he care whether she had a bonnet or not? She knew he wanted her to make a good impression among the townsfolk. But up to now he had bought things without her being with him. He had had several pretty dresses and hats already waiting for her when she’d arrived at Tombstone.

  She wished that she could feel better about him as a person, for she did enjoy being treated to new things. For so long she had not had the money to buy trinkets or pretty dresses.

  A preacher’s salary had not gone very far, and usually her husband had spent most of the money helping others who were less fortunate than him and his wife.

  Jessie and Reginald rode in silence the rest of the way. After they reached the ranch, Jessie left the horse in the stable and quickly returned to the buggy. She noticed that Reginald was gazing at her attire, and as she sat down on the seat beside him, he began his scolding again.

  “You should change into something more appropriate, but too much time has already been wasted by my having to search for you,” Reginald said, snapping the reins and sending the horse and buggy down the long, white gravel road toward town.

  “Why the rush?” Jessie murmured.

  She could not help feeling uneasy, for she didn’t trust this little weasel of a man any farther than she could throw him. Everything about him seemed loathsome to her now.

  Yet she knew there were many who admired him. How could she feel one thing for him, when so many others felt the opposite?

  Perhaps she was wrong to have judged him so quickly. He might be a genuinely nice person. . . .

  She shook her head when she recalled Lee-Lee and Jade. Nothing about how he treated them was kind. No genuinely nice person made women live in cribs, forced to sell their bodies to filthy, drunken men.

  And no decent man struck a woman!

  She felt Reginald’s eyes on her.

  “Why the rush to get into town?” he mocked. “Jessie, be quiet. Just always do as I say and we’ll be able to get along fine.”

  She looked quickly at him, stunned that he would say such a thing to her!

  Jerking her head so that she no longer looked at Reginald but instead at the false-fronted buildings that came into view as they approached the main part of the town, Jessie forced her thoughts away from her cousin. The more she tried to understand him, the more confused she became.

  But for now, she did as he asked. She sat quiet.

  Her mind was now on something far more pleasant: Thunder Horse and how genuinely kind and soft-spoken he was, and handsome.

  She wondered why she got such a tender feeling when she thought about him. He should not matter at all to her.

  Yet she couldn’t help being intrigued by him. As strange as it seemed, he was all that made her feel sane or safe since her arrival in Tombstone. Her cousin only made her feel confused, even threatened.

  If it weren’t for Thunder Horse, she would truly feel threatened and trapped, for she had no money to go anywhere else. She had no one to go to.

  She was at the mercy of a man she now saw as a total stranger . . . even a madman!

  She gave Reginald a slow glance, wondering if she had ever known him at all.

  As they entered Tombstone’s main street, the first things Jessie saw were the tiny, horrible houses . . . cribs . . . used by prostitutes.

  It was unbelievable that some were actually owned by Reginald, who pretended to be so holy and proper. If the townsfolk knew the truth, how would they treat him then?

  Like the devil, she was sure!

  Her insides grew cold when she saw Lee-Lee standing in her assigned window, sparsely dressed again, as men stared at her, thrusting hands filled with coins toward her.

  Jessie flinched when she saw one of them go into the tiny window space from the back side and get Lee-Lee. Both then disappeared into the room behind the window.

  It made Jessie sick to her stomach to imagine what was about to happen to the poor girl!

  Her thoughts and eyes were drawn back to Reginald when he stopped his buggy and laughed throatily.

  “I lied,” he said, his voice filled with a strange glee. “I didn’t bring you into town for a new bonnet, but for you to watch the Indians coming into Tombstone today to beg. Because of the trouble I’ve had with the likes of Chief Thunder Horse, it gives me pure joy to see what is happening to these Indians.”

  He leaned closer to Jessie’s face. “Chief Thunder Horse’s days are numbered,” he said between clenched teeth. “Then, like these savages you’ll see today, he’ll be lowered to begging, too.”

  Jessie gazed through the thick-lensed glasses into what she felt was pure evil.

  She tried to hide the shudder that engulfed her. She didn’t want Reginald to know the depths of her loathing for him, not until she found a way to escape his madness.

  “Which Indians are these?” she asked as calmly as she could when she saw a number of Indian warriors walking down the middle of the street.

  “Cheyenne,” Reginald said, looking away from Jessie and focusing on the Indians. “These Cheyenne live on a reservation a few miles outside of Tombstone.”

  “A reservation?” Jessie said, swallowing hard. She had heard of the harsh lives the Indians lived on reservations, where they were no longer free as they had been since the beginning of time.

  She had never seen a reservation, and had never desired to. She didn’t want to look upon the faces of those who had lost everything to the white man, even their pride.

  She wanted to ask Reginald if Thunder Horse lived on a reservation, too, but knew better than to mention his name.

  But hadn’t Thunder Horse said he lived in a village? Surely if he lived on a reservation, he would call it that, and would have spoken the name with much venom. She had heard that Indians hated to be rounded up like cattle to live on land that was no longer theirs but instead, the United States Government’s.

  “Just watch what happens here today,” Reginald said, drawing his horse and buggy to the side of the road, yet remaining inside it. “Jessie, this is ‘beef issue’ day for this band of Cheyenne. Deprived of the hunt as they had always known it, the Indian warriors gather at that cattle pen over yonder to ‘hunt’ their quarry.”

  Reginald pointed to a pen, filled with cows. She felt sick to her stomach as she turned toward the warriors again and saw them painting their faces as though they were going to war. When they were finished, they secured quivers of arrows to their backs, then walked toward the penned-up cows, carrying long, huge bows.

  “Jessie, let me explain this to you so that you’ll know the true meaning of what’s about to happen,” Reginald said, gazing at the warriors as they took positions around the outside of the fence, their eyes narrowing in eagerness. “The government agents buy the cattle necessary for this hunt from local ranchers, who are glad to have a handy market for their stock. The Indians have claimed the right to kill and butcher their cattle today.”

  “But I still don’t understand,” Jessie murmured, not sure if she even wanted to.

  “The warriors are going to pursue the white man’s buffalo—in other words, these cows,” Reginald said throatily, obviously anticipating what was about to happen. “They feel this is their last chance to play out their ritual hunt and also ensure themselves of fresh meat.”

  “It seems so . . . so . . . indecent of the government to put the Indians in this position,” Jessie said, looking around a
t the Indian women and children who were gathering to watch and encourage their husbands, fathers, brothers, and cousins. For whoever killed the most cows today would be the ones who would have full bellies for the long winter ahead of them.

  “What’s indecent is Indians themselves,” Reginald snarled, his eyes narrowing angrily. “They’re nothing but a bunch of filthy savages. I’d hate to get near any of them. I’m sure I’d have fleas all over me from their long, filthy hair.”

  “Reginald!” Jessie gasped, paling at the depths of his hatred.

  But her thoughts returned to the hunt at hand when the warriors began whooping and hollering as they slaughtered one cow after another. Arrows protruded from the cows that now lay on the ground, dead.

  But still several remained that were not yet slain. And those that were still alive were frantic to escape as they clamored and fought to get away from the massacre.

  “Lord!” Jessie cried as one of the bulls broke down a section of the fence and began running wildly down the street.

  The bull was running straight toward the spot where several Indian children were playing, completely unaware of the approaching danger. Suddenly all but one of the children scattered, screaming.

  Jessie saw that the one remaining child, a young brave, stood stone still, his eyes wide with fear, as the bull ran closer and closer to him.

  Unable to stay there and merely watch the inevitable, Jessie jumped down from the buggy.

  She lifted the hem of her skirt and raced toward the child although Reginald was screaming at her to stop. She grabbed the boy out of the way just in time to save him.

  Jessie knelt down and hugged the boy, feeling his fear. He was panting in terror and clinging desperately to her.

  When he said something in Cheyenne to her, she guessed that he must be saying “Thank you.”

  A young woman she assumed was his mother came crying and took him into her arms. Her tear-filled eyes showed Jessie just how much she appreciated what Jessie had done.

  “Thank you,” she finally managed to say in surprisingly good English. “Thank you for saving my son Little Sky.”