The Angel and the Outlaw (23 page)

Nape Luta regarded J.T. thoughtfully for a moment before asking, “Do the white men treat their own with honor?”

J.T. shrugged. “It depends on the man. The whites aren’t all bad.”

“I will have to take your word for that,
tahunsa
,” Nape Luta said. “I have never known a
wasichu
who had any honor.”

“I’d have to agree with you,” J.T. said, grinning. “I haven’t known too many myself.”

It was late afternoon before they found any game. Tatanka Sapa raised his hand, signaling for silence, and all conversation ceased as they concentrated on following the tracks.

There was something almost hypnotic about riding across the snow-covered prairie. Only the sound of the horses trudging through the snow broke the stillness. Dark gray clouds hovered overhead. J.T. huddled deeper into his buffalo robe coat, his thoughts turning toward Brandy as he wondered how she was spending the day. This was the first time they had been apart for more than an hour or two since the Sun Dance. It surprised him how much he missed being with her. Not since his mother died had he allowed himself to care for anyone. But Brandy was ever in his mind, in his thoughts. In his prayers.

His prayers. He had never been a praying man, but now, each morning, he sought a secluded place to commune with
Wakan Tanka
. A morning song, the Lakota called it, a dawn prayer to the Great Spirit. Always, his prayer was the same: Bless my woman and my unborn child with health and strength. Don’t let them suffer because of me.

He had been surprised by the sense of peace that had been his since he had decided to start each day with a prayer. Several times, he had been tempted to discuss it with Brandy, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to talk about it. And then, one morning when he’d finished praying, he had turned around to find her standing a short distance away.

“I’m sorry,” she had said with an apologetic smile. “I didn’t mean to spy on you.” She had lifted one shoulder and let it fall. “I was just curious to see where you went so early every morning.”

Not knowing what to say, he had merely nodded.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?”

“Of course not.”

He had taken her in his arms and held her close, feeling better somehow because she knew.

During those quiet times of introspection and prayer, he often wondered at Gideon’s silence. It had been a long while since the angel had spoken to him. Did that mean Gideon was pleased with him, or did it mean his guardian angel considered him a lost cause and no longer worth his trouble…

A half-hour later, Nape Luta, the deer they had been tracking. Five does and two yearlings.

J.T. drew an arrow from his quiver and put it to his bow string. Staring down the shaft, he sighted on a doe that didn’t have a yearling at her side.

Holding his breath, he let his arrow fly. Almost simultaneously, he heard the swish of two more arrows. The two surviving does and the yearlings immediately took flight.

J.T. grinned at Tatanka Sapa and Nape Luta, who both grinned back at him.

“A clean kill,” Nape Luta said, nodding at J.T. with approbation.

Tatanka Sapa chuckled. “Remember when he could not hit a target the size of a buffalo?”

“
Echa
.” Nape Luta said. “He has done well.”

Dismounting, the three men retrieved their arrows, then loaded the carcasses over the backs of their horses.

Tatanka Sapa glanced at the sky. Thick black clouds shrouded the setting sun.

“There is a storm coming,” he predicted. “We should find shelter for the night.”

J.T. shook his head. “I’m going home.”

“You will not make it back before the storm breaks,” Nape Luta said.

“I don’t care.”

“He yearns for the shelter of his woman’s arms,” Tatanka Sapa said with a knowing grin.

J.T. didn’t deny it. He wanted to see Brandy, to sleep at her side. “Are you coming with me?”

Tatanka Sapa and Nape Luta exchanged glances, then grinned.

“My woman’s arms offer more comfort than the cold ground,” Nape Luta mused. “If we hurry, we might yet beat the storm.”

“
Yekiya wo!
” Tatanka Sapa cried, leaping onto the back of his paint pony. “Let’s go!”

J.T. swung onto the back of his horse, his heart pounding with anticipation as he raced toward home and Brandy’s waiting arms.

It was nightfall by the time they reached the outskirts of the village. The storm Tatanka Sapa had predicted had swept past them.

J.T. knew something was wrong even before he saw the first smoldering lodge. His nostrils filled with the fetid stench of blood and death, the acrid smell of smoke. For a moment, he stared at the carnage spread before him, and then he raced toward his lodge, Brandy’s name a cry on his lips.

Whispering Brandy’s name, he stared at the blackened poles, the scorched hide covering.

“Brandy!” Fear unlike anything he had ever known uncoiled within him as he screamed her name. “Brandy!”

There was no sign of her. Digging through the ashes of what had once been his home, he found his Colt. Shoving the pistol into the waistband of his clout, he continued to sift through the ashes. A few minutes later, he uncovered the rattle his grandmother had given him. Miraculously, it was unharmed save for a small scorch mark on the end of the handle.

It was a sign, he thought as he tucked the rattle inside his shirt. A sign that Brandy was alive. She had to be alive.

Please
, Wakan Tanka,
protect my woman and child. Gideon, if you can hear me, let them be alive and well. Take me now, I don’t care, but let Brandy be alive.

He whirled around at the sound of footsteps. Nape Luta and Tatanka Sapa stood behind him. Blood welled from the long shallow gashes on the arms and chests of both men.

“Only the dead remain,” Nape Luta said.

“What happened?” J.T. asked hoarsely.

“Pawnee,” Tatanka Sapa said, his voice heavy with scorn. “They often raid small villages when the snow is on the ground.” “Most of our old people are dead,” Nape Luta said in a voice as hard and unforgiving as stone.

“What of the men?” J.T. asked. “The women and children?”

“The men who were not killed in battle are probably in hiding. The women and children who survived would have been taken as prisoners.”

Relief washed through J.T.. The Lakota had obviously lost the battle, but Brandy might be still be alive. She had to be alive.

They spent what was left of the night salvaging what they could from the burned-out lodges and burying the dead.

Rage and grief burned in J.T.’s gut like hot coals when he found the bodies of Wicasa Tankala and Chatawinna lying in the wreckage of their lodge.

Nape Luta’s wife had been shot in the back; his two sons were missing. Tatanka Sapa’s father and father-in-law had both fallen prey to the Pawnee.

When they had done all they could, J.T. paced the darkness, oblivious to the rain. His nerves were raw as he imagined Brandy in the hands of another man, frightened, perhaps wounded.

Muttering an oath, he caught up his horse, determined to go after her.

He glanced over his shoulder as he felt a hand on his arm.

“Where are going, my brother?”

“I’m going after my woman,” J.T. replied. He glanced at Tatanka Sapa, who was standing behind his brother. “I’ve got to do something.”

Nape Luta nodded. “We will leave at first light.”

“I’m going now.”

Tatanka Sapa shook his head. “We cannot trail them in the dark. Our horses need rest. We will leave at first light.”

J.T. swore under his breath. Tatanka Sapa was right. There was nothing to do now but wait.

He was sitting back on his heels, resting, when he saw the first warrior. Moments later, several others appeared, and then a handful more.

He saw the fresh cuts on their arms and legs and knew they had spent the night mourning their dead.

He saw the war paint on their faces and chests, and knew they had spent the morning preparing to avenge their dead.

By sunrise, twenty-three warriors, eighteen women, and eleven children had come down out of the hills.

J.T. listened as one of the warriors related what had happened.

“They came in the hour after sunrise,” Tatanka Sapa’s cousin said, his voice as bleak as winter ice. “They stampeded the horses and set fire to the lodges. Our men fought hard, but we were badly outnumbered.”

Tatanka Ohitika paused, his dark eyes glittering with the memory. “The Pawnee rode through the village, killing everyone. When we saw we could not win, we ran for the hills.”

“You ran!” J.T. exclaimed.

Tatanka Ohitika nodded. “The Pawnee did not come for vengeance or blood, but for our women and horses. We knew the battle would end as soon as our warriors stopped fighting. It was the best way to save the lives of our women and children.”

“Did you see my wife?”

“I saw her,” one of the women said. “She was unhurt.”

“Thank God.”

“We will leave six of our men here, with the women and children,” Tatanka Sapa said. “The rest of us will go after the Pawnee.” He gaze swept the faces of the warriors. “Who will stay?”

Decisions were quickly made. The six eldest men would stay behind. J.T. and Tatanka Sapa would ride ahead. The other men, most of whom were on foot, would follow. In the meantime, Nape Luta and Tatanka Ohitika would ride to Sitting Bull’s camp and ask for help.

An hour later, J.T. and Tatanka Sapa rode out of the village.

I’m coming, Brandy love. I’m coming…
J.T. repeated the words in his mind as he rode, willing her to hear them, to know that he would come for her no matter what. He refused to even consider the possibility that she might be injured, or dead. She was alive. She had to be alive.

“Will Sitting Bull send help?” J.T. asked after a while.

“Yes.” No qualifications, no doubts.

J.T. clung to that reassurance as they followed the tracks left by the Pawnee.

It was near dark when they caught sight of two Pawnee warriors hunkered in the shadows beneath a cottonwood tree.

“Scouts,” Tatanka Sapa whispered. Dismounting, he knelt beside his horse. “They trail behind to make certain they are not being followed.”

J.T. nodded as he dropped lightly to the ground.

“I will take the one on the left.”

“Right.”

J.T. drew an arrow from the quiver slung over his back. Sighting carefully down the shaft, he thought of his grandmother dying in his arms. His arrow flew straight and true, striking the Pawnee squarely in the heart.

The warrior on the left fell backward at the same time.

He was congratulating himself on a job well done when a shrill cry rent the air. Whirling around, J.T. swore under his breath as a Pawnee brave came hurtling toward him, a long-bladed knife his hand.

There was no time to think, no time to worry about Tatanka Sapa or how many other Pawnee might be nearby. Dropping his bow, J.T. jerked his knife from the sheath at his side, parrying the other man’s thrust.

For a time, they scuffled in the dirt, knives slashing viciously. J.T. put everything from his mind but the need to survive. He had to live, for Brandy’s sake.

Rolling nimbly to his feet, he faced the Pawnee. For a timeless moment, they studied each other, then, with a cry, the Pawnee lunged forward. The sound of metal striking metal echoed and re-echoed in J.T.’s ears. The Pawnee, fighting for his own life, fought valiantly. But J.T. was fighting for the freedom of his woman and his child, and he fought like one possessed, slashing wildly, until his blade sank into his opponent’s heart. With a cry of triumph, J.T. jerked his blade from the Pawnee’s chest. Bending over, he wiped his blade clean on the dead man’s leggings. Only then did he become aware of the deep gash in his own side.

Grimacing, he pressed his hand over the wound as he glanced around. Tatanka Sapa was standing a few feet away. With a triumphant grin, he raised a pair of bloody scalps over his head.

J.T. glanced at the man he had just killed and then, very deliberately, he bent down and took the warrior’s scalp. He looked at it for a moment, a surge of satisfaction sweeping through him, and then he threw the grisly trophy away.

They stripped the bodies of the dead, taking their weapons and food stuffs, using strips of their clothing to bind their wounds, and then they were riding again, weariness and pain overshadowed by their need for vengeance.

* * * * *

Brandy sank wearily to the ground. She had never been so tired in all her life. Or so afraid. The battle the previous morning had been like nothing she had ever seen. Images both horrific and valiant had burned themselves into her memory—the sight of Wicasa Tankala fighting to protect Chatawinna; a young mother struggling to defend her children; a small boy running out of a burning lodge, his clothing in flames.

The acrid scent of gunpowder and smoke had clogged her nostrils and burned her eyes as she tried to fight her way to freedom.

The screams of the terrified, the wounded, the dying had buffeted her ears until she had felt like screaming herself.

She had watched, appalled, as the Lakota warriors fled the village. Only later had she realized that, with their going, the battle had come to an end.

The Pawnee had rounded up the women and children, killed the wounded, looted and burned lodges. They had ridden all day yesterday, stopping only briefly to rest the horses. Around noon, one of the warrior’s had thrust a hunk of dried venison into Brandy’s hands. It had been the only food offered until nightfall.

With a sigh, she sat back and closed her eyes, her thoughts turning homeward, toward J.T.. How awful it must have been for him to return to the village and find it destroyed. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that he would come after her. The thought of J.T. riding to her rescue like some medieval knight in shining armor caused her heart to swell with joy even as she contemplated the danger of his undertaking such a task. But surely he wouldn’t come alone!

Despair settled over her as she realized he might not find her, that he might be killed trying to rescue her. What if she never saw him again? She was conscious of minutes and hours passing, of time slipping away. They had only a few months left, and she wanted to spend every minute of it with J.T., to hoard as many memories as she could so she could take them out and remember them when he was gone.

Brandy gazed into the fire, her heart sending a silent prayer to Heaven, beseeching the Great Spirit to reunite her with the man she loved, to protect him while they were apart.

* * * * *

In the morning, the Pawnee split into several small groups.

Brandy felt a surge of panic. Even if J.T. found the site of last night’s camp, he would have no idea which group to follow to find her.

She shook her head as one of the warrior’s grabbed her by the arm. “No! Leave me alone!”

He frowned at her; then, with a shrug, he shoved her toward a handful of other women. Surrounded by warriors, there was nothing to do but obey.

They were headed north, she thought, but J.T. would have no way of knowing that. And then she smiled.

A moment later, she tripped. Before anyone noticed that she had lagged behind, she quickly scratched the word ‘north’ in the dirt, then hurried after the other women.

* * * * *

Tatanka Sapa knelt beside the Pawnee’s campfire and stirred the ashes, his brow furrowed. “Still warm,” he said.

It was a good sign, J.T. thought.

Rising to his feet, the warrior checked the ground for sign.

“They have split up,” he said, gesturing with his hand. “Tracks go in four directions.”

J.T. swore under his breath. How the hell was he going to find Brandy now? They couldn’t scout all four trails, and if they followed the wrong one, the right trail could be cold or washed out by the time they realized their mistake.

“Damn!”

“Tokala.”

J.T. glanced up to see Tatanka Sapa hunkered down on his heels a few yards away. “Did you find something?”

“Perhaps.”

Curious, J.T. went to see what the other man had found.

Tatanka Sapa gestured at the ground. “Strange markings. They mean nothing to me.”

Hope flared in J.T.’s heart. “It’s
wasichu
writing,” he said, his voice betraying his excitement. “They’ve taken Brandy north.”

Tatanka Sapa grunted softly. “Let us ride back and tell the others we have found the trail.”

“You go,” J.T. said.

“You cannot ride in alone.”

“I can’t take a chance on the trail getting cold, either.”

“Perhaps you are right.” Tatanka Sapa placed one hand on J.T.’s shoulder. “Wait for us when you find their camp, my brother. I will bring help as soon as I can.”

J.T. nodded. He grimaced as he swung onto the back of his horse. One hand pressed to his wounded side, he rode north, his only thought to find Brandy.

Among the Lakota, a captured woman became the property of the man who captured her. He could sell her, or take her to wife, as he saw fit. Any children born to the captured woman were treated as full-blooded Lakota. If the man who captured an enemy woman did not take her to wife, it was considered a mark of esteem for the warrior who had captured her to give her to another. Occasionally, a captured woman might be passed to several warriors before she was taken to wife. A Lakota warrior could have as many wives as he could provide for; occasionally, a woman had more than one husband, but such instances were few, since the first husband had to give his consent. Usually, when a woman took a second husband, it was because the first had been unable to give her children. Any children born to the woman and her second husband were considered to be the children of the wife and her first husband.