The Guardian (10 page)

Black Sun's hunting turned out to be even more onerous than he'd expected. The
Siksika,
being young and lacking in proper behavior, had made enough commotion to scatter all the game within a half day's ride. He spent the first day of his hunt trekking through the foothills with his bow, seeing not so much as a rabbit or grouse, let alone a deer, elk or antelope. That night he made a small fire in the shelter of a rock and used the coals to roast some roots he'd dug. Even cooked, the roots were tough and stringy, but they would nourish him until he could bring down some meat.

With the foothills barren of game, Black Sun had no choice except to venture out onto the flatland, where the animals could see across the open distance and places for a hunter to lie in wait were few and far between. Worse, he knew that without a horse, he was vulnerable. There was no way to outrun a mounted enemy or to outmaneuver a charging buffalo on foot. Only luck and alertness could keep him safe.

On the second day of his hunt, he came upon a herd of antelope, but their speed was like the wind and they bounded out of arrow range. On the third day he saw a
distant herd of buffalo, but he was separated from them by a deep gorge. By the time he found a way across, he knew, they would be gone.

At night he lay under the stars, listening to the breath of the wind and the stirring of small animals around him. When he closed his eyes, Charity's face drifted above him like a pale moon in the darkness. It was all too easy to remember the feel of her soft breast in his hand and the taste of her skin against his seeking lips. Her husky little voice seemed to whisper in his ear—sensual, caressing words that had no meaning yet told him all he wanted to hear.

He worried about her, alone with her baby in the sacred canyon. There were times when it was all he could do to keep from abandoning this fruitless hunt and retrace his steps to where he had left her. But that, wisdom argued, would be the most foolish thing he could do.

Charity would be safe, he assured himself again and again. She was an intelligent woman, with the good sense to stay where he'd left her. By the time he returned she would have several days of rest. With luck, they'd be able to leave immediately. Until he found horses, they could make fair time on foot, keeping to the woods where they wouldn't be seen.

There were times when Black Sun could almost make himself believe that everything would go as planned. But he knew better. Fate had filled his life with tragic twists and turns. This encounter with the white
woman would be just one more. Their journey would be dangerous and filled with uncertainty. But no matter what befell them, or when and how it happened, one thing was certain. In the end, he would lose her.

Maybe that was the reason for the dream. And maybe that was what Charity was meant to teach him.

On the tenth day of the hunt his luck finally changed. From a low ridge, he spotted eleven antelope browsing in a hollow. The lay of the land, and the fact that he was downwind from the small herd, allowed him to belly-crawl within arrow range. The animal he brought down was in prime condition, its horns black and curving above its large eyes, its coat beautifully patterned in fawn and cream.

“Forgive me, child of the wind,” he murmured, slit ting the creature's throat to end its suffering. “And thank you for the gift of your life.”

He skinned and butchered the carcass on the spot, wrapping the meat in the hide to keep it clean. He was several days from the sacred canyon, too far to carry fresh meat on foot without danger of it spoiling. He would need to find a safe location to build a fire, cut the meat into thin strips and hang them to cure in the smoke. That would mean more days away from Charity. But the delay was necessary. Black Sun could only hope she would stay where he had left her and that the spirits of the sacred canyon would keep her and her child safe until he returned.

 

C
HARITY HAD SEARCHED
every inch of the streambed in the hanging valley. She had dug in the gravel until her fingernails were worn to raw nubs. But she had found no more gold nuggets to delight her eyes and fire her dreams.

Never mind, she told herself. Where there was one piece of gold there were sure to be more. The gold was simply hidden away, out of easy reach. And it
was
gold, she was sure. On the journey west, Rueben Potter had shown her a chunk of fool's gold. Real gold was deeper in color, he'd explained. The look of it was so rich and bright that there could be no mistaking it for anything else.

While Annie slumbered in her cradleboard, Charity had explored the full circle of ledges. Trapped in the buff-colored quartz, she had seen tiny flakes of gold—thousands, perhaps millions, of them, glittering like tiny gems in the sunlight. There was gold all around her, she sensed. But it would take more resources than she possessed to bring it down from the canyon and smelt it out of the rock. Even so, when she held the nugget in her hand, it was impossible not to dream and plan.

Perhaps, once she was safely home, she could file a mining claim to the canyon. She could hold it until the country became less dangerous, or sell it to someone with the means to set up a mining operation. What a wonderful life the money could provide for Annie—a comfortable home, a good education, even such luxuries as fine clothes and travel!

But the future was no more than a dream, Charity reminded herself. Right now only the nugget was real. She held it in her hand, savoring its solid weight. Her fingers traced the contours of its eagle-head shape. The nugget was too wonderful to think of selling, especially when she had just found a canyon full of gold. She would save it as a special souvenir for Annie.

Wrapping the nugget in a scrap of deerskin, she tucked it into the cradleboard, among the folds of the buffalo robe. “This shall be yours, Annie,” she promised her blue-eyed daughter. “When you look at, it will remind you of the place where you were born.”

And the Arapaho brave who brought you into the world,
she thought, but she did not say the words out loud. She would tell Annie the story of Black Sun when the little girl was old enough to understand. But the memory of that unguarded moment when his hand lay over her pounding heart would be locked away, never to be shared.

For the first few days of Black Sun's absence, gold hunting provided Charity with a pleasant diversion. But as the days passed and he did not return, she grew more and more anxious. She understood that he might have to travel far in search of game, but surely he had not planned to be gone so long.

With each passing day, Charity had grown stronger. By now her burns were nearly healed. She was able to swim in the pool and to climb on the rocks wearing the moccasins she'd stitched from rawhide and deerskin,
using the bone needle and sinew she'd found among Black Sun's supplies. On one foray, she'd discovered a larger, better protected cave higher in the ledges and had spent the rest of the day hauling bedding and supplies up to the new home.

The sun had sprinkled her skin with pale gold freckles and bleached platinum glints into the clean, windblown mane of her hair. She had no mirror except the sunlit pond, but it was easy enough to see that she was no longer the exhausted, frightened woman who had arrived in this mountain sanctuary.

From a forked stick and a piece of her petticoat she had fashioned a dip net. With this, she soon became adept at catching the fingerling trout, whose numbers never seemed to lessen. Her supply of sun-dried fish filled the parfleche where the venison had been, adding much-needed protein to her diet of roots and berries.

Annie, too, was thriving. Thanks to her mother's rich milk, her little stick-thin arms and legs were filling out. At the age of nearly two weeks she was plump, rosy and already showing signs of a stubborn streak.

All these blessings, however, were darkened by the shadow of Black Sun's absence. Within one day of his leaving, Charity discovered that the slightest sound from below the cliff was enough to make her race to the edge, grip the aspen that grew there and peer downward, eager for the sight of his tall, lean figure striding up the trail. At night she huddled beside the pool, gaz
ing up at the sky and wondering if he was looking at the same moon, the same stars. Sometimes, when she slept, she dreamed of lying in his arms, her head pillowed on his shoulder, her bare legs tangled sweetly with his.

As the days passed, however, her dreams evolved into nightmares. One night she saw his lifeless body sprawled on the prairie, trampled by buffalo. Another night she saw him tied to a burning stake in a hostile Blackfoot camp. But perhaps the most haunting dream of all was the one where she saw him on horseback, riding away from her without looking back. Riding away, despite her pleas and calls, until he vanished into the twilight.

Anxiety clawed at her day and night. Her appetite faded and sleep, when it came, brought only bad dreams. Sensing her mother's worry, Annie grew tense and cranky.

Charity bore the strain until the morning of the fourteenth day, when she looked out over the canyon and told herself that it was time she faced the truth.

Black Sun would not be coming back.

Whatever she did next, she would have to do alone.

Squaring her shoulders, she walked back to the cave, where Annie was fussing to be fed. Sitting cross-legged with her back against the ledge, Charity nursed her daughter while her mind spun with desperate plans.

The sooner she left this place, the sooner she would be home, she told herself. She had seen no smoke from the camp of the Blackfoot braves since the day of the
thunderstorm. With luck, they would be far away by now. She could work her way down the canyon and cut over into the foothills, using the sun to keep her directions straight. As long as she avoided the open flatland, she should have no trouble keeping out of sight.

Why not go now? she reasoned. Why wait another agonizing day for a man who would never return? She had as much food as she could carry. She had buffalo robes for sleeping and shelter. She had the small knife and the long, braided rawhide rope that Black Sun had left behind. She would never be better prepared than she was right now.

Annie had finished nursing. Charity patted the bony little back till the air bubble came up, then laced her daughter securely into the cradleboard. Next she collected the things she would need for the journey and bundled them into the buffalo robe. With Annie's cradleboard slung behind her shoulders, it would be all she could do to carry what they needed. But that couldn't be helped. She would grow stronger with each day of walking.

At last she was ready to go. She made one final check of the cave that had been Annie's first home. She had left it clean, with the odds and ends she wasn't taking bundled up and stashed behind a rock. Maybe someday Black Sun would come back here and find them. But she could not think of Black Sun now. If she imagined him returning to this place and finding her gone, she would never have the courage to leave.

Resolutely, she thrust her arms through the straps of the cradleboard and lifted it onto her back. Then, tucking the bundled supplies under her arm, she started for the path down the cliff.

She had almost reached the waterfall when she chanced to look out toward the mouth of the canyon.

Her heart dropped.

From the place where the young Blackfoot had camped, a thin column of smoke rose against the morning sky, then another, and another….

B
LACK
S
UN SAW
the columns of smoke at dusk, as he was crossing the last ridge of wooded hills. With mounting dread, he stared at the sky, taking the measure of what he saw.

It was a whole village, perhaps twenty or thirty lodges, camped right at the mouth of the canyon. And although he could see little more than the smoke from their cookfires above the trees, he would wager his life that they were
Siksika.

Keeping to the wooded slope, he plunged toward the mouth of the canyon. Fear pushed him on, shooting strength through his tired legs. Somehow he had to reach the hanging valley above the canyon. He had to find Charity and the baby—if they were still alive.

Pausing where a high boulder gave him a vantage point, he peered down through the leafing aspens. Yes, they were
Siksika.
He could see the camp now; not a war party, but an entire band, including women, children and elders.

Spring was a time when many tribes migrated up from their winter camps, following the herds of game
that grazed on these high plains. But these
Siksika
did not appear to be on the move. They had put up their lodges and their meat-drying racks as if they meant to stay right here.

A tall, young man passed through Black Sun's view. Even at a distance, Black Sun recognized him as one of the youths who'd come into the canyon on the day of the thunderstorm. The young braves must have ridden home and told their elders about the big medicine in the sacred canyon. Now the entire band had come here to experience that medicine for themselves.

Had they ventured into the canyon? Had they found Charity and her child? There was only one way to know.

Slipping to the ground, Black Sun started up the slope. There was only one ground-level entrance to the canyon, and it was blocked by the camp. To get to the place where he'd left Charity, he would have to go in higher up, then look for a place where he could work his way down the sheer ledges. If Charity and the baby were gone, he would search for them. If they were captives, he would rescue them at any cost. If they were dead…

But to dwell on the horrors that might have taken place would only paralyze him. He could only go forward one step at a time and act on whatever he found.

Searching his memory of the canyon, he remembered a deep, vertical cleft in the ledge below the falls. If he could find it, the cleft might be narrow enough for
him to bridge with his body and climb down to the bottom of the canyon. Then he would have to mount the trail up the side of the falls to the place where he had left Charity.

The dusk was fading into moonless night. Racing with the darkness, Black Sun scrambled up to the rim of the canyon and, after some frantic searching, managed to find the cleft. It was narrow enough at the top for him to press his back against one side and his feet against the other. He could only hope the width would remain constant all the way down.

He could not climb with the bundle of smoked meat. Without hesitation, he tossed it into the blackness. For what seemed like a very long time, it ricocheted down between the ledges before coming to rest with a final thud. Black Sun followed, bracing his body in the cleft, working his feet, then his back, slowly downward over the face of the rock.

The effort was exhausting. By the time he reached the canyon floor, Black Sun was scraped, bruised and bleeding. Every muscle in his body quivered with strain. Barely stopping to catch his breath, he found the bundle and made for the trail that would take him alongside the falls. With every step he prayed to Heisonoonin that he would find Charity and her baby safe and well.

By now the canyon was pitch-dark. Even the waterfall, which caught every speck of light, was no more than sound in his ear and wet mist on his skin. Black
Sun flinched, nearly losing his balance, as an insect-hunting bat brushed past his face. Vines and roots caught his feet, causing him to slip on the treacherous moss. Only the stars were constant. Glittering like a river above the canyon, they guided him upward until he reached the top of the falls and staggered onto level ground.

“Stop right there!” The voice was familiar, but the figure who leaped out of the shadows, brandishing a long, sharpened stick like a spear, looked like a ghost-creature in the starlight, all wild, pale hair, fluttering buckskin fringe and menacing limbs. Was this the woman he had left behind? The woman who'd wept when he turned his back and walked away from her?

The makeshift spear quivered as she raised her arm, ready to thrust the point into his chest and push him back over the falls to his death.

“Charity.” He whispered her name, dizzy with relief at having found her alive. “It's all right. I'm here.”

She froze, her arm still upraised, her eyes flashing defiance in the starlit night. Only then did Black Sun realize what it had taken to transform her into the savage female warrior he saw in front of him—the long, empty days and nights, the feelings of desertion and betrayal, the anger and the fear.

A woman of his own people would have simply waited, accepting his absence and return as she accepted the passing of seasons. But not Charity Bennett. Left alone and unprotected, she had taken on the des
peration of a trapped animal, ready to fight to the death against anyone who threatened her or her daughter.

“Where's your baby?” he asked, bracing himself for her reply. If anything could have pushed Charity over the brink, making her hate him for his absence, it would have been the loss of her child.

Her head jerked ever so slightly toward the ledges. Then, slowly, her arm came down and the spear clattered to the rock. “Annie's all right,” she said in a tired voice. “So am I.”

He took a step toward her. Charity's eyes flashed like a wildcat's, warning him not to come closer. “You told me you'd only be gone a few days,” she said.

“I know,” he said without apology. “It took more time to get the meat we needed. How long have those people been camped at the mouth of the canyon?”

“Three…days.” She swayed a little and he could see that she was exhausted. “I haven't slept in all that time. Whenever I close my eyes, I imagine them coming up over that ledge. I've been waiting right here, to drive them back before they could get to Annie.”

He took another step. “I'm here now, Charity. I'll keep you safe. You can rest while I guard the cliff.” Black Sun found himself aching to gather her into his arms and hold her. She had been so brave, and she was so tired. But after what had happened between them the last time, he knew better than to touch her.

“Have they been in the canyon?” he asked her.

She shook her head, her hair like a cloud on the
night breeze. “Not that I know of. I've only seen the smoke from their camp. I haven't dared go down the cliff.” She peered into the darkness. “What do you make of this? Were you able to get close?”

“As close as I dared. It looks like a village, whole families, not a war party or a hunting party. I saw one of the braves who came into the canyon before. My guess would be they're here for some kind of ceremony, some big medicine.

“How long do you think they'll be here?” She sounded unspeakably weary, and once more Black Sun fought the urge to gather her into his arms, hold her close and rock her like a child.

“Setting up that many lodges is a fair amount of work,” he said. “They wouldn't have done it if they'd planned on moving soon.”

“So we could be trapped up here.” She moved beside him, at the edge of the cliff, and stood looking out over the canyon. From the distant camp, the faint throb of drumbeats floated up through the darkness. “You got into the canyon,” she said, fixing her eyes on him. “How did you do it? Can we get out the same way?”

Black Sun sighed and shook his head. “I climbed up to the rim and came down over the ledges. Even I couldn't make it back the way I came. It's too high and too steep. All we can do is watch and wait, and leave as soon as it's safe.”

She stood in silence for a long moment, listening to
the sound of the drums. “You didn't have to come back for us,” she said.

“Do you think I would have left you here?” he asked, gazing at the sky, where dark clouds were spilling in above the canyon. The breeze carried the fresh smell of rain.

“It was what I'd begun to believe,” she said. “Why should you risk your life to save a white woman and her baby?”

Black Sun avoided meeting her eyes. Should he tell her that she had been in his thoughts day and night? Should he tell her that when he saw her standing with her spear, alive and safe, his heart had come home?

“You're worn out, Charity,” he said. “Get some rest while I keep watch. We can talk in the morning.”

She exhaled, still tense. “Wake me if anything happens,” she said. “I'll be up on the ledge with Annie, in the new cave I found.”

“Fine. Go ahead.” He glanced toward the low cave beside the pond, which was now clean and empty. That would be his sleeping place while they remained in the canyon, he resolved. She had not invited him to share the new cave and, even if she had, he would not risk the temptation of being so close to her.

Turning, she walked away without another word. He watched her climb the narrow, hidden path that led to a shadowed opening in the cliff, moving along the narrow ledge with the easy grace of a puma. An instant later she vanished from sight.

Black Sun stowed most of his supplies in the small cave. Armed with his bow and arrows, his hunting knife and Charity's clumsily fashioned spear, he settled himself on the flat rock above the falls, which offered him the best view of the canyon.

With his bow across his knees, he gazed into the darkness. From below, the drums beat out a driving, hypnotic cadence, punctuated by the shrill sounds of chanting. The wind that gusted up the canyon carried the pungent smell of burning sage. The
Siksika
were performing a medicine ceremony, he surmised. Such gatherings often took place in the spring, to ensure plentiful rain, rich grass and good hunting. Holding such a ceremony here, at the mouth of the sacred canyon, would lend added power to the songs, dances and rituals.

The drumming and dancing would continue far into the night. While it lasted, the canyon would be safe. No one in the village, except a few sleepy children, would leave the bonfire until the last dancer had dropped from exhaustion. Charity, alone with her baby, would not have known this. The sounds from below must have terrified her.

How long would they be safe here? There was no easy answer to that question. If they could keep the
Siksika
from discovering their presence, it might be possible to simply wait them out and leave after they were gone. But every day posed a greater risk that someone would see them or hear the baby. If they were caught,
the penalty for violating the sacred canyon would be a slow and excruciating death.

Black Sun fingered the hilt of his knife, thinking of Charity and her baby and wondering whether, if it came to that, he would have the strength to spare them such a death. But no, he promised himself, their situation would never get that far. He would see to it—even at the cost of his own life.

Something stirred in the darkness behind him. Charity moved up onto the rock and sat at his side, her shoulder not quite touching his. “I couldn't sleep,” she said.

“You should try,” Black Sun said, aware that her simple nearness had triggered a quickening of his pulse. “You're tired,” he said. “You'll need your strength later on.”

She raised her knees, clutching them to her chest as she stared into the darkness. The drumbeats, sensual and compelling, floated up through the mist-shrouded canyon. Black Sun's heart drummed with a rhythm of its own. He could feel the heat rising in his body. He remembered the taste of her skin and the swollen softness of her breast in his hand.

“Every night since they arrived I've listened to them,” she whispered. “What are they doing down there?”

“Making medicine,” he said. “Dancing and singing to ask their gods for a good hunting season. They aren't monsters, Charity, in spite of what those young fools
did to your people. All they want is to keep what belongs to them.”

“And that includes this canyon, doesn't it?” She lifted her gaze to the sky, where dark clouds were racing in over the peaks. Sheet lightning flickered in the west, followed by a distant growl of thunder. “What will they do if they find us here?”

“I think you know. That's why we mustn't let them see or hear us.” Black Sun flexed his tired shoulders. “To speak of such things invites the dark spirits, Charity Bennett. If you want to talk, ask me about something else.”

“Very well.” Lowering her feet to the ground, she turned back to face him. Her silvery eyes penetrated the darkness. Could she see how much he needed her—and how desperately he was fighting that need?

“Once, you started to tell me a story about the night your mother died and you left the white man,” she said. “I want to hear the rest of it.”

He shot her a startled glance. Until now, he'd forgotten what he'd told her on the trail. To tell her the rest of the story would be like ripping the scar off an old wound.

“It's not a pretty story, Charity,” he said, hoping she would relent and change the subject. “Why would you want to hear it? I've never told it to anyone, not even to my own people.”
Not even to my own wife,
he thought, but he did not say the words out loud.

Her hair seemed to float as the breeze swept it back
from her face. Until tonight he had only seen her wet, dirty and in pain. She was beautiful, he realized. As beautiful as she had appeared in his dream. His throat ached with wanting her.

“I need to hear it all,” she said gently. “There's a darkness in you, Black Sun, an anger that goes all the way to the depths of your heart. I felt it the first time I saw you.” She laid her palm on his arm, sending a quiver of tension through his body. “Even now I feel it,” she said, withdrawing her hand.