The Coming Storm (13 page)

“Are the Blackfoot a very superstitious people?” Dianne asked.

“By the standards of the white man, I would probably say yes. Although my mother was not given to silly notions. She believed in working with medicine that came from the earth. Healing was something passed down in our family.” Koko sat in a chair by the bed and sighed. “I wish my skills were better. I wish I’d listened more attentively.”

“You’ve done much with your healing skills to help the folks around here,” Dianne replied softly.

“But I cannot help him,” Koko said, her voice filled with resignation.

They fell into silence once again and without meaning to, Dianne drifted to sleep. She didn’t awake until she felt someone nudging her shoulder.

Opening bleary eyes, Dianne yawned. “What is it, Koko? Is he worse?”

“No, but someone is at the back door. I don’t want to leave Bram.”

Dianne nodded, noticing that it had grown quite light. She looked again to the clock above the fireplace. It was already eight-thirty in the morning.

“I’ll go see to it.” Her body ached as if she’d suddenly aged fifty years. Stretching as she walked, Dianne whispered another prayer for her uncle.

Levi Sperry stood on the other side of the door. In his hands was a large bundle of fur. “I went back and skinned that bear The boys are butchering him. I thought Miz Koko might like to have a hunk of the meat.” He opened the bundle to show her the meat. “Maybe she could make Bram a soup or something.”

Dianne smiled. “That was thoughtful, Levi. Come on in and put it on the counter.” She led the way into the kitchen and motioned to where he should deposit the gift.

“How is he?”

“Not really any change to report,” Dianne said, crossing her arms. She had never felt so tired.

“Billy Joe said he’d heard there was a Confederate doctor who’d settled in these parts, but he wasn’t sure exactly where Somewhere south of here on the Madison. If you want, we could go looking for him.”

“No, you men need to be getting ready to drive the cattle up north. We can’t afford to be caught in an early snow. Uncle Bram was already starting to worry about such things.” Dianne suddenly realized that with her uncle incapacitated, she’d be the most likely one to be in charge. “I’ll talk to Gus about it all,” she said, thankful that her uncle’s foreman was so trustworthy. “He’ll help us figure out what’s to be done. Is he back yet?” Gus had been up north scouting out the exact location for where they would move the herd.

“Not yet, but it shouldn’t be much longer.”

“No . . . not much . . . longer.”

Dianne felt something inside her break. Like a floodgate that had burst, her eyes welled with tears without warning. Choking back a sob, she tried not to worry about her uncle, about Cole, about herself and Koko and everyone else.

“I’m sorry,” she said, turning away from Levi. “I’m trying to be strong, but it’s hard.”

“Of course it’s hard, Miz Dianne. You shouldn’t feel guilty for a few tears. Why, I’ve never known another woman as strong as you, unless it’s Miz Charity.”

Dianne turned back around and smiled. “I’ll take that as a real compliment. I think the world of her. I wish she and Ben were here right now.”

Levi nodded. “Me too.”

“I wish Cole were here too,” Dianne murmured, her tears streaming. She cried softly into her hands, embarrassed that she should break down so completely in front of Levi. “I’m afraid for him. I don’t know why he’s not come back. His letter said he should have been here by now.” She hoped Levi could understand her muffled words.

Levi finally spoke. “I wish he were here too.”

Dianne didn’t look up to acknowledge him. She was trying too hard to regain control of her emotions. To her surprise, Levi embraced her. The warmth of his touch was her undoing. She cried all the harder.

“I’m sorry, Dianne,” Levi whispered against her ear. “I know I’m not the right man for this job, but I care about you. Cole will come back soon, you’ll see. And Bram, well . . . he’s a tough one. If anyone can survive this, he can.”

Dianne cried softly against Levi’s shirt.

Levi began stroking her hair and without warning he placed a kiss upon her head. The act sobered Dianne rather quickly.

Pulling away, she bit her lip and took charge over her ragged emotions. “Thank you, Levi. For everything you’ve done. Bram would have surely died if you hadn’t been there.”

Levi seemed to understand her discomfort. “Well, you let me know if you need anything else. I figured Miz Koko would want to know that bear won’t be botherin’ anyone else.”

Dianne looked at the massive pile of fur and nodded.

Levi began looking uncomfortable and eased back toward the door.

Dianne didn’t want to make Levi feel bad for his actions, so she moved forward and took hold of his arm. “Thank you, Levi Thank you for being here.”

He said nothing, as Dianne expected. The words she knew he wanted to say were completely inappropriate. He was still in love with her. That much was clear.

CHAPTER 10

C
OLE HAD NEVER BEEN IN SUCH PAIN.
T
HERE WASN’T
A place on his body that didn’t hurt. He wasn’t sure why the Sioux had kept him alive, but he knew he wasn’t the only one. There were a handful of them. In his conscious moments he’d seen at least two white women and maybe another man, all members of the small wagon train he’d been helping to lead west.

Fever had overtaken him, yet for some reason Cole didn’t feel afraid. He figured his death was imminent. Either from the infection in his body or by the hand of the Indians. He tried not to even think of what the Indians had planned for him.

Cole knew they were moving north. He’d figured that out by the course of the sun. Lying on a travois and being dragged along, Cole had watched the sun’s passage from left to right, day after day. He had no idea where they were heading or why they were taking him and the others along. Maybe they were heading to Canada, he reasoned, but again his fever-confused mind could not process any reasoning for such a decision on the part of his captors.

An older Sioux woman came to him twice a day and offered him a foul-tasting broth and a bit of pemmican. Cole hardly had strength for chewing, but he forced himself—hoping, praying really, that somehow his efforts would heal his body.

As the days passed, Cole told himself that he was on the mend. His head didn’t hurt quite as much and his arm looked better—at least he thought it did. He tried to ignore the red, swollen, oozing flesh where his chest wounds were infected. The old woman who tended him seemed not to be too concerned with them. She did smooth some kind of greasy substance on them, but Cole had no idea why they would try to heal him if they only planned to turn around and kill him.

After what Cole calculated to be three weeks, the tribe stopped for several days along a fairly wide river. He had no idea where they were, but the river seemed to flow east and west. When they’d been attacked, they’d been in central Wyoming Territory, and Cole hadn’t been all that familiar with the land. Daniel had been taking a different route than Cole had traveled that first time west. But this area was even more of a mystery. There were more trees here, and there were mountains very close to the west. It actually reminded him a bit of home.

It must be Canada, he thought. But again, there was no way to prove or disprove that idea. He tried to observe the scenery and the people without making it obvious. Moaning, he rolled slowly to his left side, hardly able to move for the pain.

God,
he prayed,
if I’m going to die, just let it come quickly and . . . and . . . let Dianne know that I love her. That I didn’t leave her on purpose
.

He gazed across the center of the camp, his eyes hooded with lids heavy from sickness. Three men stood in conference not far from where he lay. The first one seemed overly concerned about something. He gestured and pointed in rapid succession. He made a sweeping motion that ended with all three men staring directly at Cole.

Cole forced himself to remain still. Were they plotting his death? Talking about how to finish him off?

One of the other three began a rapid-fire conversation, apparently countering the older man’s worries. The third man finally put out his hands and touched each of the other men. He spoke softly, inaudibly for Cole. Not that Cole knew much of the Sioux language. Whatever the third man said, however, seemed to satisfy the other two, and together the three of them went off toward one of the other tepees.

The old woman came to tend to Cole’s wounds. She tutted and fussed, speaking without so much as a smile as she applied more grease. She gave Cole the same foul-smelling drink, nearly forcing it down his throat. But this time there was no offer of pemmican. Perhaps their supplies were running low, Cole thought.

The evening came upon them quickly with a brisk cold wind that cut Cole to the bone. He began shivering so hard at one point that he felt like he was banging his head against the ground. To his surprise, one of the three men he’d seen earlier came and placed a buffalo robe over Cole’s aching body. He made signs with his hands, then said in very guttural English, “Sleep now.”

The next morning there was a dusting of snow on the ground, and by evening the skies had grown heavy with leadcolored clouds. The air smelled of snow and woodsmoke. Cole had seen the young women bringing in wood for fires. It looked as if the Sioux were planning to stay for a while.

Again Cole tried to analyze his surroundings. The mountains were no more than a day to the west—maybe less. A man on horseback would have no trouble reaching them, but a man on foot would be harder pressed. And for a man in his condition, it would probably be suicide to even try.

But I have to try
.

The events of that evening made it even more necessary to at least attempt escape. Two of the other prisoners died. Cole didn’t know what had brought about their deaths, but they were dragged off to the edge of the camp and mutilated. Cole closed his eyes against the uproar. There seemed to be an anger in the young warriors that demanded attention. The elder Indians remained in control, however. One in particular appeared capable of calming the outrage. It was the same man who’d interceded for Cole.

When it began to snow in earnest that evening, Cole watched as the abandoned bodies were covered in the white blankets provided by God. He wasn’t certain, but he thought one of them was a young man who’d been traveling west to join his Mormon fiancee in Utah.

Cole closed his eyes. How many true loves had been separated by this one act of war by the Sioux? He thought of Dianne again and his heart ached with longing and a need to live at least long enough to see her again.

I have to try to escape. I have to live to see her again
.

Where lethargy and sickness had left him incapable of making the decision before, Cole now felt a driving need to get back to his home—to Dianne. He knew he was weak, knew it would take an act of God to get him beyond the well-guarded camp. But seeing those angry braves and watching the mutilation of the dead gave Cole a feeling of urgency. He wasn’t alive by any desire of the warriors. If they had their way, he’d soon be dead, and then there’d be no hope of seeing Dianne.

I have to try
.

That night when the camp was silent, Cole pulled on the heavy buffalo robe and crawled across the camp as quickly as he could manage. His bare stomach and chest made contact with the snow, startling him. He was blessed to still have his trousers and boots on, but even with the buffalo fur, the cold bit at him, freezing his skin. After a time the cold numbed him so that even the little use he had of his muscles began to fade.

There was hardly any light. The moon, shrouded by clouds, offered no help. With each movement, Cole was certain he’d have to stop and wait to be found the next morning. The pain was almost more than he could manage, and his breathing came in heavy gasps.

Cole waited for the sound of the guards who would spot him and either kill him or force him back to the camp. But no one came, and by the time Cole made it to a stand of trees just north of the camp, he was on his feet. There was no strength in his legs, and his head was spinning from the sheer stress of moving. Maybe his head wound had been more serious than he’d known. Fighting the dizziness, Cole picked up a fallen branch and used it as a crude walking stick. It seemed to help a bit, but the pressure of leaning against the stick caused extreme pain in his chest.

For every two or three steps Cole took, he had to rest, either sitting or leaning hard against a tree. The snow fell in heavy wet flakes, but at least there was no wind. Cole prayed the snow would cover any sign of his escape and leave the Sioux clueless as to which direction he’d gone.

“
I
don’t even know what direction I’m going,” he muttered. He’d started out in the direction he thought was west, but in the darkness, he could have easily gotten turned around. “I could end up in the frozen north for all I know.”

When Cole felt he could go no farther, he hunkered down between a couple of dead logs and pulled the buffalo robe close. Panting in the cold, damp air, Cole fought to keep from coughing. If he died here, his family and friends might never know what had happened to him. His bones would merely rot away with the fallen trees.

“Oh, Dianne . . . I’m so sorry.”