Deborah Camp (42 page)

Feet Like Wind made a scoffing noise. “You will do nothing but die and be worm food!”

Copper hoisted herself upright on Ranger and summoned her voice from the depths of her soul. “Remember the last man who wronged me, Feet Like Wind! Remember that I sent the waters to drown my own husband. He was a great medicine man, but his medicine was an ant squashed by me.” She shook back her mane of hair. “My own people fear me. They could have killed me, but they knew I was an enemy no one can afford to have. So they cast me out to save themselves. You know this to be true. It’s also true that I breathed life back into this dead man and that I own him. Do you want to be the next ghostwalker under my spell, Feet Like Wind? Or do you want to live and share my wealth of power?”

From the corner of her eye she saw Chief Seven Scalps edge from the opening of his tepee to listen
to the exchange so she switched to French. Her mind was so weary and her mouth so dry that she had to think hard to translate and talk slowly to pronounce the words correctly. “I would value Feet Like Wind’s friendship. All would know that he and his great chief, Seven Scalps, were my brothers. No one would want to cross you or offend you.”

“I will hear no more!” Feet Like Wind brandished the spear. “You die!”

“Wait!” The old chief ambled forward, his wizened, yellowed eyes fixed on Copper. “She and the ghost will come into my lodge. They will leave their evil medicine and weapons outside. They will hobble the witch’s horse.”

Tucker looked up at Copper. “What’s going on? What are they saying?”

“Help me down. The chief wants us to go inside his tepee for some talk.”

He wrapped an arm around her waist and eased her off the horse.

“No!” Feet Like Wind rounded on the chief. “They have no power! They shame us.”

“We will talk.” The chief motioned for them, then motioned more sharply for Feet Like Wind. “You are not the chief yet. You come inside and open your ears and eyes. Dead, they will haunt us. Alive, they will protect us.”

Tucker shoved the knife under his belt and fit an arm around Copper’s waist to help her to the chief’s lodge. Outside, a brightly colored shield depicted a buffalo and antelope. Eagle feathers fluttered around it, interspersed with seven scalps.

“Can you get through this?” Tucker whispered to Copper.

“Yes, with you by my side. Yes.” She looked into his eyes and drew on his brash courage. “You are a smart man, Tucker Jones. Smarter than you know.”

He made a chiding face. “I’m a damned fool.”

“Your leg, is it bad?”

“It’s been better. I seem to have trouble keeping my legs in working order around you.”

She forced her gaze from his blood-stained pants leg. “Leave your weapons outside, then hobble Ranger. They’re afraid of him.”

“Hobble him? That’s like asking me to hogtie a tornado.”

“He’ll let you. He knows you’re in charge now.”

Copper was right, of course. Ranger showed his teeth, but allowed Tucker to hobble him near the chief’s lodge. Outside the tepee flap, Tucker laid down his arms and followed Copper and the chief inside. Feet Like Wind brought up the rear. The chief took a seat in front of a drawing of an eagle’s head. He motioned for Feet Like Wind to sit opposite him and for Copper to sit to his left, Tucker to his right. A bed of embers burned in the center. The old man poked at it with a stick and coaxed a few flames to dance and lick at the coals and sheets of bark.

Tucker cleared his throat, getting everyone’s attention. “Before we talk, I want someone to give Copper a drink.”

She smiled feebly, then translated in French to the chief. Seven Scalps called out someone’s name and a moon-faced woman peeked inside the lodge. The chief spoke to her and the woman left and returned with a gourd of water. Copper drank most of it, but left a swallow or two for Tucker. He’d never tasted anything so good in his whole life.

“Do you feel up to this?” Tucker asked, and she nodded, but Tucker wasn’t fully convinced. She’d taken a beating, that was evident in her haggard expression and the numerous red and purple bruises he could see on her arms, legs, neck, and face. Her clothing was torn, blood-streaked, and filthy. Mud matted her hair. Tucker noticed that
her hands had trembled when she’d reached for the gourd.

Sensing Tucker’s worry, Copper smiled again at him, trying to ease his mind. If only she could tell him that just seeing him had given her renewed strength. Her love for him filled her, bolstered her. Seeing him and Ranger charge over the rise had been the culmination of all her prayers and chants and belief in her own medicine. In her darkest hour, her heart had revealed to her that Tucker Jones was her best cure, her last hope, her singular salvation.

“Feet Like Wind has much to hate about you,” the chief said, directing his comment at Copper. “Stands Tall killed his father.”

Copper glanced at Feet Like Wind. “Who was his father?”

“Glad To Face The Sun,” the chief answered.

Copper nodded. “I remember now. In the battle between our people eight seasons ago. We fought for hunting rights. My husband killed many men. His enemies weren’t always my enemies.”

“Stands Tall shot my father in the back and left him to suffer. He couldn’t walk or crawl. He died under the hot sun. When I found him his skin hung in blisters and his tongue was so big in his mouth he could not even say the final prayer. It was no way for a great warrior to die. I swore I would kill Stands Tall.”

“But I killed him first,” Copper said.

“The river killed him.”

She shrugged aside the challenge, refusing to argue mostly because she hadn’t enough strength. Catching the confusion in Tucker’s expression, she translated the French into English for him.

“When Stands Tall died, Feet Like Wind swore to kill you,” the chief explained. “I told him then that this was a bad mission. To kill the widow serves no purpose. Then you made this dead one
live and Feet Like Wind said you did it only to shame him—to dishonor him.”

“I did it because I wanted this man,” Copper stated bluntly. “I was heavy with child and needed someone to do for me. My actions aren’t governed by any thoughts of Feet Like Wind.” She stared hard at the brave. “I had no quarrel with him until yesterday.”

Seven Scalps studied each of them carefully while Copper told Tucker what had been said.

“Feet Like Wind and Copper Headed Woman have good reasons to be enemies. Do they have good reasons to be friends?” the chief asked.

Tucker stared at Copper, sensing that a question had been posed—an important one. He tried to will her to be wise in her answer.

“My ghost man listed the reasons. We could all benefit from a friendship. Any time a man can hold out his hand in friendship is a more prosperous time than when he holds out his hand and there is a weapon in it.”

Seven Scalps nodded. He pulled an ornate pipe from beneath a stack of blankets and began filling it from a soft, doeskin pouch. “I agree. Friendship is mightier. We will smoke the pipe and forge the peace. It will soon be known to all that Copper Headed Woman and the Ghostwalker are at peace with the Seven Scalps Gros Ventre.”

Feet Like Wind grunted in disgust, garnering Seven Scalps’ flinty glare.

“If you are ever to lead us, then you must learn to lead us to safety and peace, not always into danger and war. We are a small family and one death is like fifty to a larger tribe. Do you think so little of your brothers that you would spill their blood to further a solitary war? That kind of action is why we are few in number.”

For a long, tense minute Feet Like Wind held the chief’s unwavering stare. Finally, he heaved a short breath and shifted his gaze to the pipe.

“I will smoke.”

Copper pushed her blood-encrusted hair back from her face. Fatigue gave her double vision and she blinked hard to restore her sight. “He will smoke,” she told Tucker. “Now we will all smoke.”

The pipe was passed among them. Seven Scalps said a prayer of brotherhood. Copper thanked the chief for sharing his wisdom and waylaying more bloodshed, then she turned to face Feet Like Wind.

“I am honored to share peace with you,” she said in English. “You are a great warrior, and you’re right. Stands Tall was a coward and a pig to leave your father on the battlefield to die slowly. A mighty warrior should be killed swiftly so that his spirit can soar free.”

Feet Like Wind narrowed his eyes with suspicion, but what he observed in Copper erased his skepticism. He gave a quick, definitive nod and moved to stand. Leaving the tepee first, he held back the flap for the others.

Tucker slipped an arm around Copper and she leaned heavily on him. He limped painfully toward Ranger.

“You’re ill.” he whispered.

“I’m tired,” she corrected.

“Let me help you up onto Ranger.” He removed the pinto’s hobbles and hoisted Copper onto the; horse’s back. Ranger swung his head around to blow lovingly on Copper’s foot. She leaned onto his neck and stroked his mane, murmuring love words in Crow to him.

“Is it over? Can I gather the weapons and leave?” Tucker asked, keeping a wary eye on Seven Scalps and Feet Like Wind.

“Yes. Hurry.”

He shoved the knife into his belt and retrieved the Hawken, Colt, bow and arrows. Giving a hop that sent blasts of pain through his gunshot leg, he scrambled onto Ranger behind Copper. She settled
back against him in sheer exhaustion. Tucker lifted a hand in farewell, then urged Ranger away from the scattering of lodges. The Gros Ventre watched them leave, none lifting a hand to stop them. When they were over the rise and cantering toward the stands of bare trees lining the far ridge, Copper shifted sideways, throwing her legs over one side. She looped her arms around Tucker’s neck and buried her face against his throat.

“Tucker?”

“Yes, love?”

“Valor …?”

“I left her with Floating Flower. She’s fine, sugar. Just fine. I’ll put her in your arms before the sun sets. I swear it.” Tucker glanced over his shoulder, making sure they weren’t being followed.

“How did you get here? Did Ranger come back to the cabin?”

“No. The dogs did.” He whistled and Patrol bounded from the underbrush. “I’ve got Brave tied over there in that grouping of cedar and pine.”

She held to him tighter. “I want to ride like this. Am I paining your leg? Is a bullet still in it?”

“It’s okay, but let’s ride together on Brave. Ranger’s had himself a day and a half.”

“Is he hurt?”

“He’s sore. Some arrows got planted in his rump.”

She sat up to see over his shoulder and examine the clumps of mud dotting the pinto’s spotted backside. “Poor Ranger. You’ve all gone through so much for me.”

“You’re worth it.”

“Tucker?”

“Yes, darlin’?”

She laid her cheek against his shoulder. “I knew you’d come. My heart never doubted you.”

He touched his lips to her hair and knew he
could never find the words to express the depth of his feelings for her. “I was more than willing to die for you, Copper.”

“I’m glad it didn’t come to that.”

He smiled against her flaming hair. “Me, too.”

C
opper was anxious to return home, but Tucker insisted that they take advantage of Harlon and Floating Flower’s hospitality and stay a couple of nights with them, giving Copper a chance to heal and rest before continuing their journey.

As good as his word, Tucker placed Valor in her arms before sunset. Floating Flower had bathed Valor, put fresh nappies on her, and fed her. Valor was peaceful as could be, but her eyes widened and she gurgled with joy when she saw Copper. When Copper rained kisses over the baby’s face, it was all Tucker could do not to weep with sloppy sentimentality.

After bathing in Harlon’s tin tub, Copper was seen to by Floating Flower. The kindly Gros Ventre also doctored Tucker’s wounds. Copper and Valor slept with Floating Flower, while the two men bedded down on bedrolls in front of the fireplace. The children’s beds were in the loft. By morning, Copper was so sore she could hardly move. Harlon went out to repair a plow, and after much urging by Copper, Tucker finally joined him in the task. Sitting in front of the fire, Copper rocked Valor while Floating Flower sewed a dress for one of her daughters.

“You’re more than generous to take us in like this,” Copper said after a silence.

Floating Flower shook her head. “You found this home for me. You’ll always be welcome in it.”

“You’re happy here?”

“More happy than ever. Harlon Moss is a good man. He treats me with respect.”

“I’m glad for you.”

“I’m glad for you.” Floating Flower smiled. “Yours is a good man, too. In these times a woman must have a good man beside her or life gets to be a never-ending chore.”

Copper made furrows in Valor’s hair with her fingertips. “He’s not my man,” she said quietly, and it was difficult to admit. For a moment, she’d been sorely tempted to let Floating Flower think that Tucker had bound himself to her, but she knew such thinking would only lead to greater suffering.

“No? He’s staying with you. He put your life before his.”

“He’s a brave man.” Pride swelled within her. “He was a Union captain. He’s used to thinking of others first.” Her chin dipped lower. “And he’s leaving.” Dread coated her throat, making it sticky. “I’ll take him to the fort soon or maybe to the Boulder town.” She remembered something Tucker had mentioned last night. “Gus is gone off to Fort Union?”

Floating Flower nodded. “To trade.”

“He’ll be gone a long while then.” She hated to think about that, especially since neither Micah nor Tucker would be around. She’d be all alone except for Harlon and Floating Flower, who were new friends and not the same as her old, trusted ones.

She thrilled again at the memory of Tucker riding over the rise, knife held between his teeth, rifle blasting, hair blowing back from his high forehead, green eyes glinting. He had been a soldier again, courageous and battle-smart. Oh, it had been a grand sight! And one she would imprint in
her mind forever. In those moments she had known a love as wide as the prairie, as tall as the highest peaks, as pure as a mountain stream, as bright as the sun glancing off newfallen snow. But she sensed a change in him, which she decided must be because he had won a battle and tasted victory again. He yearned for his former life, his blue uniform, the company of men like him. Life with a widow and another man’s baby in a tiny mountain cabin probably paled now with the glow of triumph still shining in his eyes.