Heartbreak Creek (37 page)

Guthrie leaned over and spit tobacco, narrowly missing Declan’s boot. “So, talk.”

Declan talked.

That was four hours ago. Now at full dark, he and Thomas were in a stand of spruce on the south approach to the village, and Guthrie’s men should soon be moving into position on the cliff across from the village.

“Taha’o’he.”
Thomas pointed toward the dark mass of the rocky bluff silhouetted against the starlit sky.

Peering through pale bands of smoke hanging above the tipis, Declan studied the cliffs facing them from the other side of the river. High up, a shadow moved. Then, another.

Guthrie’s men were in place.

Declan let out a relieved breath.

He’d had a time of it, convincing the hotheaded lieutenant this was to be a negotiation, not a bloodbath like the ones at Sand Creek and Summit Springs. Guthrie and his men were to hold their positions unless either Thomas or Declan gave the signal to fire—a dropped kerchief—or unless either of them was killed outright. The troopers were Declan’s hole card, but he didn’t want to play it unless the Indians forced him to.

Convincing Thomas was a lot harder. The warrior wanted to ride into the village and bury a lance in the dirt outside Lone Tree’s tipi. But Declan could see the Cheyenne was favoring his leg and was still suffering headaches from the blow to his head. There was no guarantee he would survive a fight to the death. Then what would happen to Pru? And if Thomas killed Lone Tree, the Arapaho’s kin might feel compelled to issue other challenges, and it could go on forever.

Besides, the responsibility for this mess was on him, not Thomas.

In the end, they compromised. The troopers would take firing positions on the bluff and watch. At dawn, Declan and Thomas would ride into the village together. But instead of going straight to where Pru was tied, they would go to Chief Lean Bear’s tipi, where Thomas would try to negotiate Pru’s release. If that didn’t work, he would demand that a council be summoned to settle the matter. And if that failed, too, Declan would play the soldier card and hope the council would rather give up one woman than risk losing more warriors to the blue coats.

“Lone Tree has broken with the tribe before,” Thomas whispered beside him. “He may not listen to the council this time, either.” It was obvious the Dog Soldier needed blood on his hands to avenge Pru, but Declan wanted to avoid that if he could. Too many had died as it was.

“Then I’ll arrest him for abduction and my late wife’s death.”

Thomas’s snort showed what he thought of that idea.

Declan sighed wearily. “If the council won’t agree to that”—which they both knew it wouldn’t—“then you can kill Lone Tree.” Not that Thomas needed his permission.

After a long silence, Thomas said, “The blue coat lieutenant said Prudence Lincoln is kin to your wife. This is true?”

“They have the same father.”

“Ho. Does this mean I must suffer the shame of being brother to a white man?”

“You’re already grandson to a white man,” Declan reminded him. “Besides, you don’t know yet if Pru will have you.”

Thomas laughed softly. “She will have me.”

With a sigh, Declan rolled onto his back and stared up through the prickly spruce branches at the slow-moving crescent moon. He thought of Ed looking up at this same moon, and how beautiful she’d looked three nights ago, cloaked in silvery light when he’d laid her out on the mattress on the floor of the town house.

She said she loved him. A wondrous thing. Even now the idea of that amazed him and brought a smile to his face as he stared up into the night sky. Then he remembered Pru, tied like a beast to a pole outside Lone Tree’s tipi, and his smile faded.

Tomorrow,
he promised himself. This would be over, Pru would be safe, Lone Tree would no longer be a threat, and he could go back to Ed—the crazy, courageous woman who had worked her way past his bitterness to wrap her gentle, joyful spirit around his distrustful heart. Then finally, the life he had always envisioned for himself could begin.

A
s dawn spilled over the east canyon ridges, sending long shafts of sunlight through the haze of smoke hanging over the river from last night’s cooking fires, Declan and Thomas rode toward the Indian encampment.

“You do not need to come,” Thomas said yet again.

“You’re not going in there alone.”

“She is my woman.”

Declan turned his head toward Thomas, and saw a man he greatly respected, despite their differences. A man he owed. But Thomas was a warrior first, and Declan knew the Cheyenne’s first instinct was to go into Lone Tree’s home ground and challenge him to a fight to the death. Reason told Declan that would only lead to more bloodshed—maybe even Thomas’s or Pru’s. The lawman in him was hoping for a more considered approach. The friend part of him wanted to keep Thomas safe.

“Did you let me go alone when we went looking for Sally?” he asked.

Thomas stared stoically between his horse’s ears, his lips pressed flat against his teeth.

“You’re not going in there alone,” Declan said again.

Thomas muttered something in Cheyenne under his breath, then glared over at Declan. “Then I will speak for both of us. You will say nothing and do nothing unless I tell you.”

“Sure, Ma.”

Thomas frowned. “Who is Ma?”

“Just remember,” Declan warned, no longer amused. “We’re here to get Prudence Lincoln out. Not kill Lone Tree. You can come back later and do that if you want. But today we ride straight to the chief’s tipi and try to do this in a reasonable way.”

Thomas glowered at the trail ahead.

As they rode closer, Declan could see the village was awakening. Women were heading into the trees to gather firewood. Young boys were bringing the horses in from the meadow, while others headed to the latrine on the far side of the tipis. Fresh smoke rose lazily into the still morning air, and in the distance, voices called out and children laughed. A marked difference from the air of defeat Declan had sensed in Spotted Horse’s camp.

The village dogs noticed them first. Rushing forward, they barked and circled, making the horses snort and sidestep, their ears swiveling. Behind them came children and gangly boys with their first bows. Several recognized Thomas and waved. The braver ones ran beside Declan’s horse, reaching out to touch his knee or boot, or sometimes his horse’s bridle or saddle—counting coup, adolescent style.

Then the warriors appeared, both Cheyenne and their allies and kinsmen, the Arapaho, rifles or bows in hand. None wore war bonnets or war paint, and they seemed more curious than threatening. Many, seeing Thomas, called greetings.

Thomas nodded in return, but didn’t speak.

Declan kept his eyes forward.

The encampment was much like Spotted Horse’s village, except the people and dogs looked fatter, and the women smiled at Thomas as they rode by. There was plenty of food, too: haunches of venison and sheep and buffalo lay on drying racks over low, smoky fires, and there was even a small patch of corn growing by the creek—a farming practice most plains tribes had abandoned years ago in favor of the horse.

It seemed a prosperous village, and Declan wanted it to remain that way.

By the time they reached Chief Lean Bear’s tipi in the center of the village, the crowd following them had grown to at least two dozen, with more streaming in as word of the visitors spread.

Leaving his repeater in his saddle scabbard but keeping the Colt in the holster on his hip, Declan dismounted, then waited beside Thomas for the Cheyenne chieftain to emerge. He was aware of curious gazes turned his way, but gave no reaction. He wondered if Pru was still tied to the pole and if Lone Tree was somewhere in the crowd behind him. The thought made the skin between his shoulder blades tingle.

When Lean Bear finally stepped out of his tipi, Declan was surprised to see the chieftain was younger than he had expected. Like Thomas, he wore fringed leggings, moccasins, and a breechcloth, over which hung a long war shirt decorated with porcupine quills, shells, and elk teeth. But instead of the topknot, Lean Bear had taken time to don a full war bonnet from which sprouted at least a dozen eagle feathers, each commemorating an act of courage or bravery.

Declan wondered which feather marked the incident that had given him the long scar that stretched from his right temple down to his chin. It had almost cost him an eye and had left the right side of his face drooping, his mouth fixed in a permanent frown. When he spoke to Thomas, his words were mumbled and hard for Declan to understand.

Earlier, Thomas had told Declan he’d known Lean Bear before he became chief, but they had never been close. And listening to them greet each other now, Declan didn’t hear the same warmth in Lean Bear’s tone that he’d heard in other greetings as they had ridden through the village.

He hoped that didn’t bode ill for the chances of getting Pru back without bloodshed.

Speaking in Cheyenne, Thomas motioned to Declan. From what Declan could decipher, he was telling the chief that Declan was the keeper of the white man’s law in the mining town of Heartbreak Creek.

Lean Bear didn’t respond, but studied Declan hard, his dark eyes giving away nothing of his thoughts. After Thomas finished speaking, he motioned for them to sit.

Thomas shook his head. In a voice directed at Lean Bear but loud enough to be heard by the villagers gathered around, Thomas said in Cheyenne, slowly and clearly enough that even Declan could understand, “I have come for my woman. The woman Lone Tree has stolen from me, his Cheyenne brother.”

Murmurs rose from the Indians crowding close.

Indians, Declan knew, often raided and warred with other tribes, taking horses, weapons, food, and even slaves. But it was unacceptable to steal from members of your own tribe.

Lean Bear raised a hand for silence. When the murmuring stopped, he said something Declan couldn’t make out. Judging by the sudden rigidity in Thomas’s posture, it wasn’t anything good.

“Then I demand a council,” Thomas said in Cheyenne.

More murmurs from the onlookers, but Declan couldn’t tell if they were approving the call for a council or opposing it.

After several back and forth exchanges, Lean Bear nodded, and sent for the men of the council, as well as Lone Tree. This time when he motioned for Thomas and Declan to sit, they did.

Other than several young boys playing a game of ring and pin, the crowd around them settled in to wait, too, sitting quietly on the ground, the braves in front of the women, legs crossed Indian fashion, forearms resting on their knees.

From where he sat, Declan could see the bluff. But aware that Lean Bear was studying him, he didn’t give it undue attention, not wanting to alert the chief to the soldiers’ presence. Keeping his expression impassive, he stared straight ahead and tried not to think about Pru tied to the pole.

And waited. Again.
Christ
, he was sick of it.

The Come All You Sinners Church of Heartbreak Creek was a sad affair, boasting an out-of-tune piano played by the pastor’s wife, Biddy, a pastor with wild gray hair that might have been styled by Medusa herself, two prim choir ladies, and five half-filled pews. When Edwina led in her four children, followed by Lucinda and Maddie, then Miriam and Billy, the bellboy from the hotel, the congregation instantly doubled.

Pastor Rickman was a Bible thumper from way back with such arm-waving enthusiasm for his subject—this week’s being the perils of the devil’s brew on the sanctity of marriage—he was sweating like a farm animal by the time Biddy pounded out the closing hymn, an off-key, but boisterously earnest rendition of “Safe in the Arms of Jesus.”

It was one of Edwina’s favorites. But today, when she came to the words “Only a few more trials, Only a few more tears,” her throat constricted with such fear for Pru and Declan she couldn’t utter a note.

“Don’t worry,” a voice whispered over Biddy’s vigorous attack on the keyboard.

Edwina looked over to find R.D. studying her and, peering around him, the worried faces of his brothers and Brin.

“It’ll be all right.” He smiled, looking so like his father in that moment she wanted to throw her arms around him.

“He’ll be back soon,” Lucas whispered.

Edwina felt such sudden and overwhelming love for this poor, broken family—her family, now—she almost burst into tears. “Pray for them,” she said in a wobbly voice.

“No need.” Joe Bill’s grin showed supreme confidence. “If Pa said he’ll bring her back, he will.”

Lucas nodded solemnly. “Pa never lies.”

“Can we go now?” Brin asked, her skinny legs swinging impatiently beneath the hem of her birthday dress. “This dang thing itches me terrible.”

Caught off guard, Edwina laughed out loud.

Which drew all eyes her way and apparently irritated the Lord no end, because as soon as she stepped out of the little church and into the bright sunshine, He put Alice Waltham and her demon spawn, Mary Lynn, square in her path.