The Coming Storm (29 page)

“But that’s what you’re doing with Portia McGuire.”

Ned came and slapped Trenton on the back. “Oh, Trent, you must learn to relax and have fun. Find some nice young woman and fall in love. You’ll see. It’s just the thing to change a man’s perspective.”

Trenton eyed his friend seriously. He didn’t know why he cared about Ned. He should have just told him he’d make his own way to Montana and let it be done. After all, Trenton had a good horse and saddle, guns, and a nice wad of earnings from his gaming nights. He really didn’t need Ned—not to accomplish getting to Montana.

Still, he cringed every time he thought of Portia McGuire getting Ned alone. Given the state of mind the poor man was in, he’d no doubt go proposing before the week was out, and where would that leave any of them?

“So what’s the plan at Virginia City?” Trenton finally asked, feeling defeat overcome him.

“Well, first we’ll find out where that uncle of yours lives. After all, you said it was supposed to be somewhere near Virginia City. Then we can get directions to Bozeman and Fort Ellis.”

“All right.”

Ned poured them both another drink. “Don’t sound so resigned, Trenton. This is all going to work out very well. You’ll see.”

Cole knew the Blackfoot were more than a little frustrated by the recent turn of events. For the last six months they’d been on the run from an army of soldiers who seemed to doggedly pursue no matter which direction they went. The Blackfoot were more cunning and capable, however. They knew the territory and how to navigate secret passages that eluded the soldiers.

The Blackfoot man who spoke English often visited with Cole in the evenings. He called himself White Tongue, telling Cole it was a name given him by his tribal members. It wasn’t, however, his real name. Cole had asked about his real name, but White Tongue seemed to feel it unimportant. What did seem important to the man was his unusual interest in Cole and his life on the ranch. Cole in turn had learned from the man that the Blackfoot hoped to trade Cole back to the whites for the return of one of their chiefs.

“If they will give us Mountain Fire,” White Tongue told him, “we will hand you over.”

“Who is this Mountain Fire?” Cole asked. He’d tried hard to be patient with his plight, but he was constantly looking for a means of escape. Unfortunately, the Blackfoot seemed to anticipate this and kept him under continual guard.

“He’s a powerful holy man. We need him in order to have victory over our enemies. He keeps us from defeat and harm.”

“Only the true God can do that,” Cole interjected.

White Tongue looked at him oddly. “How can you believe in your God when He didn’t keep you from falling into the hands of the Sioux? You were nearly killed by them, and now you’re here with our people.”

Cole wondered if the man’s heart would be open to hearing the truth. He had come to like White Tongue in spite of this captivity, and he honestly wished the man might come to know God.

“Knowing God—believing in Him—doesn’t mean we will never encounter harm,” Cole said honestly.

“Then why believe in Him? If His power is so limited—if He is not strong enough to keep you from the hands of your enemy—then what good is He?”

Cole picked up some pemmican and ate it slowly while he pondered White Tongue’s question. “I don’t serve God only in times of prosperity and safety. I trust Him to know what is best for me. Sometimes others interfere with God’s plans—sometimes I do—but it’s never a matter of God not being strong enough or powerful. It’s a matter of choice. God gives man a choice. You may choose to believe in Him and follow His ways, or you may deny Him and go along your own path. Either way, you can’t ignore Him and do nothing.”

White Tongue seemed to consider this for a moment. “My sister believes in your God. She has suffered greatly. I do not see that her God cares.”

Cole leaned back, nodding. “Sometimes it’s hard. Like now—with me here. All I truly want is to be back home so I can marry my girl and raise a family. I want to ranch and learn what I need to know to be productive and useful. Instead, I’m here learning the ways of your people. I don’t know why God would put me in this situation, but here I am.”

“And you do not question Him for this?”

Cole chuckled. “Of course I question Him. I’ve asked Him about a million times why this happened.”

“And what does He tell you?”

Cole could see the interest in the warrior’s eyes. “He tells me to trust Him. To wait patiently.”

“Bah! Those are the actions of women. A man must be in charge of his world. He must be a leader—strong, fearless.”

“But without God, it would all be meaningless,” Cole declared. “Jesus came into this world as a baby, not in charge and certainly not strong or fearless. He came to show us that the way to God is through Him. If we turn from our wickedness and accept that Jesus is the way, we can have eternal life.”

“But a life of eternity as someone’s prisoner? What kind of life is that?” White Tongue asked.

“My life here is temporal, at best,” Cole declared, and for the first time in months he began to understand something that had eluded him. These troubles truly were light and momentary afflictions. He would live or die and then be gone, and only the things he did for God would remain. It was all about the way in which he looked at life—at his life.

“The Bible says we’re just a mist—a vapor. We’re here one day and gone the next. My heart’s desire is to live a life worthy of God’s praise. I want to hear Him say that I did my job well,” Cole admitted.

“What job do you speak of?”

Cole shrugged. “The job of serving Him.”

A commotion arose outside the tent, and White Tongue quickly jumped to his feet. “I’ll be back. Stay here.”

Cole wondered if this might be his chance to escape. As if reading his mind, White Tongue turned at the opening to the tepee. “Don’t even try to leave. There are those in this camp who would just as soon the Sioux had killed you.” With that he left.

Cole went to the opening and peered out to see what was happening. A group of men had gathered, and with them came women and children. Cole listened to the excited declaration of one young man. He understood most of what was said, enough to know that something had gone wrong in the negotiations with the army. Apparently two of the party had been killed and the others had barely escaped. They feared the army was going to follow and might have even hired a scout to follow them back to the camp.

Cole shook his head. No doubt this meant they would pack up and be on the move within the next hour. Every time they moved, he felt certain it took him farther and farther from Dianne.

Cole went back to his place in the lodge and wondered what he should do. It seemed like a good time to run, but White Tongue was the kind of man who would pursue him for the sake of pride, if nothing else.

Nearly half an hour later Cole looked up as White Tongue came through the door. “What’s going on?” he asked, hoping the news might be better than he’d understood it to be.

“I’m sure you heard most of it. Your Blackfoot is good,” the man replied.

Cole shrugged. “I’d still like to hear it from you.”

“Two of our warriors were killed. The soldiers are on their way. We’ll break camp and head west.”

Cole sighed. “I suppose you’ll bind me.”

White Tongue shook his head. “No. I think you’re an honorable man. I believe you’ll come with me and do what I tell you to do.”

Cole jumped to his feet. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re going with me. We’re breaking into several groups. The people will come together on the Bear River.”

“The Bear?”

White Tongue nodded. “You call it the Marias.”

“Ah, yes,” Cole said. “Are we far?”

White Tongue ignored the question and motioned to the buffalo robe Cole had carried with him since the Sioux. “Gather your things. We leave in a few minutes.”

A sense of excitement ran through Cole like a prairie fire. The Marias was quite a ways north of the Madison Valley, but nevertheless, Cole knew he could find his way home—if he got that close.

He began to reason in his mind how he might get the upper hand with his Indian companion. White Tongue was a powerful warrior, well muscled and highly trained. He wouldn’t suffer defeat easily.

“Come,” White Tongue commanded when he returned. “I have horses waiting.”

Cole whispered a prayer and followed the warrior to a small but broad-chested Indian pony. All around them was an organized chaos of women and children, elderly and animals. The warriors appeared to have gone—at least most of them. Cole knew the men would probably try to draw the soldiers away from the village in order to give the others more time to break camp. What few warriors remained were busy with instructing those around them.

“It’s never easy to run,” White Tongue said, looking back with an expression of regret. “But it has come to be a way of life.”

Cole mounted the horse without waiting to be instructed. He looked to White Tongue for further instruction, but there was none. The man simply jumped upon his horse’s back and jerked his head to the left. “We go this way.”

They rode fast and hard for miles. Cole admired the endurance of the ponies and of the warrior. It was the New Grass Moon, April to the whites, and the chill of winter was still upon Montana. As the sun moved to the west, Cole wondered if they would make camp—and if they would meet up with any of the others.

White Tongue didn’t seem inclined to slow their progress, much less to speak, so Cole remained silent. In the back of his mind, however, a plan began to take form. He didn’t like the idea of harming the Blackfoot man, but if need be, Cole would do what he had to do. He would do anything necessary to finally get home to Dianne. He had waited long enough.

CHAPTER 22

I
T WAS LATE WHEN
T
AKES
M
ANY
H
ORSES FINALLY STOPPED
beside a river. “We’ll camp here tonight,” he told Cole. He watched the white man survey the area, as if trying to figure out how an escape might best be accomplished. If the situation had been other than it was, Takes Many Horses might have let the matter play out, just to see what the man chose to do.

The Blackfoot warrior dismounted. “Let’s make a fire, and then I have something very important to tell you. I’ll take care of the horses; you gather wood.”

Cole Selby eyed him curiously, then dismounted. He left the pony with the man, then went toward the river, where the brush was quite thick.

Takes Many Horses watched him for a moment, wondering if Cole would be stupid enough to make a run for it. Hopefully not. The man seemed reasonably intelligent. He’d have to know that it would be almost impossible to get far from the camp on foot. He’d also have to believe that Takes Many Horses would come after him.

Contemplating these things, Takes Many Horses cared for 8 the ponies. He couldn’t help but wonder how Cole would take the news he was about to share. For months he’d tried to negotiate Cole’s release without seeming too interested in the man. He didn’t want to arouse suspicions that Cole meant more to him than any other white man. Otherwise, there could be all sorts of trouble.

The council, however, wouldn’t hear Takes Many Horses’ arguments that it was bad medicine to keep Cole. They were confident Cole would be their best chance of getting the army to release Mountain Fire. Now two more of the Real People were dead at the hands of the white seizers, and the rest of the people were on the run. Bad medicine indeed.

He sighed. It seemed so pointless some days. It was almost as if Takes Many Horses could see the end of the Blackfoot nation. He’d heard of men who spoke of prophecies and dreams. Perhaps he had been given a vision of things to come. But even if this was true, what could he do about it?

Takes Many Horses kicked at the riverbank. He often wondered if the best thing would be to take Dianne Chadwick up on her offer to live at the ranch. Live as a white man, taking up his father’s heritage instead of his mother’s. It could solve many problems in his life. He could hide away there—work for Dianne . . . love her from afar.

He knew, however, he could never do that. It wouldn’t be honorable. Not feeling as he did about her. It would be torturous to see her with Selby day in and day out. To watch them produce a family, grow more deeply in love.

He walked away from the ponies and gathered a few small branches and broke them into neat stacks, then positioned them for a small fire. He’d managed to get a nice blaze going by the time Cole returned with the extra fuel. “That should get us through the night. We won’t stay here for long,” Takes Many Horses instructed.

“Why?” Cole asked. He deposited an armful of wood by the fire.

“The soldiers may yet be following us. I can’t say for certain. We’ll sleep for a few hours and then head out.”

“What’s this river?” Cole asked, taking a seat by the fire.

“The Big River, or Missouri, as your people call it.”

“How is it you know so much about my people? Where did you learn about them—learn English?”

Takes Many Horses retrieved the leather pouches he’d brought and withdrew bags of pemmican. He handed one to Cole. Then he reached back into the bag and withdrew Cole’s journal.