The Guardian (13 page)

She watched him until he disappeared from sight. What would she do when he was gone for good? she wondered. How could she go back to the white world and behave as if she'd never known him—as if she had never loved him, never lain in his arms? How could she live a lie, when her most precious memories were here, in this canyon, with a man she would love for the rest of her life?

After he had gone, she tucked Annie into her cradleboard. Only then did she remember that she hadn't asked Black Sun how Indian mothers kept their babies from crying. But as long as they didn't have to sneak past a sleeping camp, it probably wouldn't be important. The fact that the Blackfoot were leaving would make tomorrow much less dangerous.

It was good that they would have tonight, Charity thought—one last night in each other's arms before they left their refuge and descended into a world of hardship and danger. She would give him all her love, knowing it would probably be the last time. Like the Great Thunderbird and his mortal lover, they could only come together in this enchanted place.

Annie had discovered the medicine pouch that Black Sun had laid on her chest. Her exploring fingers fluttered over the beaded surface to tangle in the fringe that
decorated the lower edge. Working the pouch loose from the baby's tiny fists, Charity held it up for her to see. Annie's sky-colored eyes widened. She gave a contented little belch and blew a bubble.

There was no question of what would go into the pouch. For days, Charity had wrestled with the problem of where to keep the gold nugget. Now, in her hand, she held the answer.

Reaching beneath the buffalo skin that lined the cradleboard, she found the nugget. The eagle head shape glittered seductively as she lifted it into the light. Its solid weight in her hand was the weight of Annie's future and her own.

Loosening the drawstring, she slipped the nugget into the medicine pouch. It fit perfectly, as if the small deerskin bag had been created to hold it. Charity pulled the drawstring tight and knotted it. Then she wove the ties through the overhanging headpiece of the cradleboard, so that the beaded sun would dangle in Annie's view. Annie responded to the new object by waving her hands and staring up at it.

Yes, Charity thought, sometimes the best hiding place was in plain sight. The nugget would be safe as long as Annie was safe. And she would have the added advantage of always knowing its whereabouts.

Was hiding the nugget in the medicine pouch a treacherous use of Black Sun's gift? The question troubled her more than she cared to admit. But her first responsibility was to provide for her child. Without the
gold, she would have no choice except to move back home with her grandparents and hire herself out as a servant—or, worse, marry another grim old man like Silas. With the gold, if she could sell the mining rights to the canyon, she'd be able to buy a cheerful little home of her own. Annie would grow up in a happy place, with music, dancing and books. She would go to school and have fun with friends her own age. When the time came for her to marry, it would be for love. And she would have every chance to fall in love with someone who could give her a happy life.

Tears blurred Charity's eyes as she fingered the medicine pouch, hefting the weight of the gold inside. There could be no other choice. She loved Black Sun to the depths of her soul. But her first duty was—and would always be—to her daughter.

 

B
LACK
S
UN
made his way down the canyon, keeping to the shelter of the trees. He had hoped for rain to drive the
Siksika
into their lodges and to cover his presence while he moved the horses, but the dark clouds he'd noticed earlier still hung above the western peaks.

Nerves strung taut, he settled himself behind a deadfall to keep watch while he waited for darkness. He had been feeling edgy since his conversation with Charity in the cave. He'd left with the feeling that something wasn't right between them, almost as if she were holding back some secret. Maybe tonight they could reason things out and come to some kind of understanding.

Black Sun picked up a piece of bark and crumbled it in his fingers. Reasoning only seemed to make matters worse between Charity and himself. When they spoke with their minds, using reason, all their differences came to the surface. It was only when they spoke with their hearts that they became as one. His heart told him he loved her. His heart told him he wanted her at his side forever. But reason told him, again and again, that what he wanted was impossible.

If only he could speak with his grandfather. Four Winds had lived more than eighty winters and was almost blind in the one eye that remained to him. But his mind was still keen, his wisdom as deep and true as the sky itself.

It was Four Winds who had advised Black Sun to undertake this vision quest. What would the old man say when he learned that his grandson had been given, not a vision, but a lost
Nih'oo'oo
woman to care for, and that the two of them had spent a night of love in the sacred cave of the Thunderbird? Would he have the wisdom to understand what had happened? Would he know the words that would heal his grandson's wounded heart?

Glancing up through the pine branches, Black Sun studied the sky. The clouds were moving in now, blown by a fresh wind that smelled of moisture. But it could be long after dark before the storm arrived, if it arrived at all. He could not count on the rain to give him cover while he moved the horses.

How long should he wait here? He was being impatient now, Black Sun cautioned himself. Impatience was never a good thing. He would wait as long as necessary for the best chance to get his horses away from the herd. Only when the animals were safely hidden in the hills would he think about returning to Charity and the night ahead.

Meanwhile he would mount the ridge to the vantage point among the rocks where he could look over the camp. He could wait there until he was sure the
Siksika
had settled down for the night.

He had started up the slope when he heard the babble of childish voices from the creek bed near the mouth of the canyon. The youngsters again. Black Sun sighed. To venture near them would only heighten his risk of being seen. Why not just go on up the ridge and leave them to their play? It would be dark soon. Their parents would be calling them home before they could do any harm.

He struck out for the ridge again, then hesitated, warned by a shrill note in the children's voices. They weren't just playing now. Their cries sounded as if they'd found something—something that excited and alarmed them.

Keeping low, he crept through the underbrush until he was close enough to see them through a screen of willows. The three little boys he'd spotted earlier were there, along with a fourth, older and taller. They were clustered on the bank of the creek, where the water
slowed and widened into a deep hole, ringed by tree roots and willows.

The older boy was using a forked tree limb to probe at something in the water. They'd found a fish, Black Sun surmised, or maybe a frog. But they weren't going to catch it with that sweeping, twisting motion of the limb, unless—

The boy gave a shout and pulled his prize out of the water. Black Sun's stomach clenched. It was not a fish, not a frog, but a sodden rag of white cloth that hung dripping from the forks of the limb.

Chattering, the three younger boys crowded around as the older boy untangled the rag, shook it, and held it up for inspection.

Black Sun's legs weakened beneath him as he recognized Charity's white underdrawers.

C
HARITY WAS SITTING
on the ledge outside her cave, watching the purple shadows of dusk steal over the canyon, when Black Sun emerged at the top of the trail.

“You're back early!” she exclaimed, hurrying down to meet him. “Were you able to get your horses?”

He shook his head. Only then did she realize that he was out of breath. His sides were heaving and his face was ashen.

“Get the baby—and anything else you can carry—” he rasped. “We have to get out of here—now!”

She stared at him in shock. “What—?”

“The children. They found a piece of your clothing in the water!”

“But I didn't—
oh, no!
”

Her stomach lurched as she remembered the day she'd washed her soiled clothes in the stream that flowed out of the pool. The glint of the nugget had distracted her for an instant and she'd let go of her underdrawers. They'd floated away and vanished over the falls. In her excitement over finding gold, Charity had not given them another thought.

“When I left the children, they were running back to camp with their prize,” he said. “The
Siksika
know that only white people make cloth. As soon as they realize a white person has violated their sacred canyon, they'll be hot for vengeance. If they follow the stream, it will lead them right to the base of the waterfall!”

The blood had drained from Charity's face. She raced back to the cave, her heart shooting jets of fear through her body. Her fingers shook as she laced Annie into the cradleboard and yanked the carrying straps over her shoulders. She had already bundled most of their provisions in preparation for leaving. Black Sun used the strips of her old petticoat to tie everything together.

Glancing sideways, Charity saw him testing the strength of his long, braided rawhide rope, jerking sections of it between his hands before coiling it and slinging it over one shoulder. She wanted to ask what he was doing, but there wasn't time. Even now, the Blackfoot could be racing up the canyon, following the course of the creek.

Thunder echoed from the rainless clouds as they hurried down the cave ledge and skirted the pond. Black Sun carried all their provisions, leaving Charity to manage the cradleboard on her back. Only as they reached the top of the cliff trail did the question strike Charity with a force that halted her in her tracks.

“Black Sun,” she whispered to get his attention. “How are we going to get out of the canyon?”

“Keep moving,” he said. “We've got to get down before they reach the waterfall, or they'll have us trapped. We can talk on the trail.”

He led the way along the steep, slippery path that had frightened Charity when she was climbing upward in broad daylight. Climbing down in near-darkness was an exercise in stark terror. Only the awareness of Annie dangling behind her in the cradleboard kept her feet inching safely over the rocks and moss. Where she could, she gripped jutting tree trunks for support. More often than not, her hands were empty.

Black Sun paused to let her catch up with him. “When they come in after us—and believe me, they will—my guess is they'll go straight up the creek to the falls, probably even climb this trail to the cave. When they see that we're gone, they'll likely spread out and search the rest of the canyon.”

“But isn't it forbidden for them to enter the canyon?” Charity asked, grasping at straws.

“Not if they think the canyon's been violated by an enemy. And the darkness won't stop them, either, even though they fear the ghost spirits at night. They'll light their torches and stay together, but they won't be stopped.” He glanced back at her. “I could be wrong. But do you want to take that chance?”

Even as he spoke, a stray breeze carried the sweet, smoky aroma of pitch pine to her nostrils. Gripping a tree root for balance, Charity looked toward the mouth of the canyon and saw the moving points of light.

“Hurry!” was all she said.

They reached the bottom of the path and crossed the creek without bothering to hide their tracks. There was no time for that now. They could only hope the Blackfoot wouldn't pick up their trail before morning.

Without a pause, Black Sun headed up the slope toward the high ledges that rimmed the canyon. Charity followed him, breathing hard now. “They've got us trapped! There's no way out of here!” she gasped.

“There's one way—the way I climbed in.”

“But you said that was impossible!” she protested, her lungs screaming with effort. “You said no one could get out that way!”

“Yes, I know.” His voice was flat and grim. “Pray to your Christian God that I was wrong.”

By the time they reached the foot of the ledges, the line of torches was weaving along the creek bed. The canyon was wide at this point and, with the slope factored in, the Blackfoot were a good two hundred yards away. Even so, Charity lived each moment in fear that Annie would cry and be heard. So far, her daughter had been remarkably quiet. But that behavior, Charity knew, could change at any moment.

“Here we are,” Black Sun announced in a low voice.

Charity looked up to see that the dark streak she'd dismissed as a shadow had opened into a long, vertical fissure in the ledge. The walls were sheer and smooth, and the opening at the top seemed to touch the sky. That Black Sun had bridged his way down this natural chim
ney was wonder enough. That he expected to climb to the top, then bring her and Annie up after him, was beyond belief.

Impossible!
she thought, though she did not say the word out loud. This was their only hope of escape. The mouth of the canyon was blocked by the camp and tonight that route would be closely guarded. They could look for a hiding place in the canyon, but the Blackfoot, with their superb tracking skills, would be almost certain to find them.

Black Sun had uncoiled his rawhide rope and tied the end of it around his waist. “Hold on to this,” he said, passing the coil to Charity. “Play it out as I climb.”

She nodded, knowing better than to ask what she should do if he fell. One slip, and all their lives would be over. She could only do what he'd so bitterly suggested—pray.

Her lips moved silently as he braced himself into the crack, his feet against one wall, his naked back against the other. She thought of the rough rock, scraping away his skin. “Take the shirt,” she offered. “It will spare your back.”

“No.” He spoke through clenched teeth as he inched his way upward. She realized then that the layer of leather between his body and the rock would increase his chance of slipping. Only bare skin would give him the purchase he needed.

Little by little he crept upward, bracing with one foot while he slid the other upward, then bracing with both
feet while he slid his body into balance. Drops of perspiration stood out on his face and body, gleaming in the faint light. His labored gasps echoed down the hollow space. Charity breathed with him as he disappeared into darkness. Only the slow unwinding of the braided coil in her hand and the darkness of his body blocking out the stars told her he was still climbing.

Seconds and minutes crawled by. Tears trickled down Charity's face as she imagined the pain of his screaming muscles and raw back. Somewhere behind her in the darkness, the torches were weaving their way up the creek. Had the searchers reached the foot of the falls? Had they found the cave?

Lightning flashed above the canyon, followed seconds later by a roll of thunder. She added rain to her prayer. Rain to hide their escape, wash away their trail and douse the torches.

The rain did not come. But the tension on the braided rawhide remained steady as the coil unwound inch by inch.

Suddenly the rope jerked upward and the stars came back into view through the top of the fissure. Charity's knees went liquid beneath her. Black Sun had made it! He had reached the top!

“Now for Annie.” His hoarse whisper floated down through dark space. Panic welled in Charity's throat. Since the moment of her birth, Annie had rarely been out of Charity's sight. The thought of sending her baby up into that blackness left her sick with dread.

“Tie her on, Charity!” Black Sun's voice was urgent. “Hurry!”

Charity glanced back down the slope. She could see the moving torches like a procession of fireflies along the creek.

Lowering the cradleboard, she tightened the lacings that held Annie in place. Then she looped the rawhide rope around the headpiece, passed it through the carrying straps and kissed her daughter's golden head. “Ready!” she whispered.

Her fingers clung to the cradleboard until it rose out of her reach and vanished into the black passage. The upward trip was swift and easy. Annie gurgled all the way, clearly enjoying the adventure. By the time the rope came back down empty, Charity had the bundled provisions ready to be hauled to the top.

A thread of nervous sweat trickled between her shoulder blades as she waited for the rope to come down one last time. She had always been terrified of heights. The thought of hanging in the darkness, suspended on a leather rope no thicker than her finger, was enough to make her stomach roil. She did not have the reach or the body power to brace her legs and back against the rock and inch her way up as Black Sun had. She would have to depend on the strength of the rope, her ability to hang on and his ability to lift her.

She remembered his hands, testing the braided rawhide as he coiled it, pulling it section by section through
his strong brown fingers. Would he have done that if he'd had full confidence that the rope would hold her?

When, after nearly a minute, the rope had not come down again, a new fear began to curl its tendrils along her nerves. What if something had happened to Black Sun and Annie? Or what if he'd simply taken flight from the danger and left her here alone?

But she was being foolish now. Black Sun had earned her trust by taking care of her and Annie. Then, when she'd him asked him for more, he had opened the door to the darkness in his soul. How could she not trust such a man? He would fight to the death before he'd desert her.

Seconds later, the rope dropped from the rim of the canyon. Charity saw that he had fashioned the end of it into a sling to support her hips. “Get it around you! Hurry!” His voice was an urgent whisper down the black chimney of rock. Charity glanced over her shoulder to see that half a dozen torches had separated from the rest and were moving up the slope, coming fast. Had they heard something? But the answer to that question was pointless, Charity told herself. If she lost her courage now, she would never see Annie or Black Sun again.

Looping the sling around her hips, she sank into it. The rope stretched and sagged. How could it hold her all the way to the top? She would never make it as dead weight, Charity realized. Somehow she would have to use her own strength to support herself against the rock.

“Don't worry, I've got you.” Black Sun's voice was calm. Too calm, she thought. “Put your feet against the rock,” he said. “Walk your way up while I lift you. Use your hands, too—easier to move you that way—” His voice grated with effort. The rope stretched and quivered as he pulled it upward.

Charity felt herself moving. She pushed her feet against the sheer wall of rock, trying to imagine herself walking upward like a fly. Where she could reach and find the minuscule handholds, she used them to support a little of her weight. Every ounce of strain she could spare the rope might make the difference between life and death.

Up, up, she inched in total darkness, with only a patch of stars at the top. The hammering of her heart seemed to echo off the walls of the fissure. She could not see Black Sun. Most likely he had passed the rope around a tree or rock to create a pulley. He would be standing off to one side of the opening, unless—

The rope slackened for an instant. Charity gasped, all but screaming as it dropped her several feet before it jerked tight again, spinning her in a slow circle before she caught the rock with her feet.

Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed the torches moving up the slope. The Blackfoot must have picked up their trail. Minutes, even seconds from now, they would reach the fissure. If she was still on the rope when they arrived, she would be a helpless target for their arrows. And even if she made it to the top in time,
the Indians would see the footprints and know where their quarry had gone. It wouldn't take them long to climb the fissure, as Black Sun had done, or to circle around the mouth of the canyon and mount the outer slope to the rim.

What if they were already there? What if they'd taken Black Sun and Annie and were pulling her upward, ready to seize her, too? Images of brutal, brown hands flashed through her mind. She began to shake uncontrollably, hanging helpless on the rope.

Sheet lightning whitened the edge of the sky. Thunder, still distant, rumbled in its wake. Oh, if it would only rain. Sweet, pouring, drenching gray rain would be so welcome. But her life had been short on miracles, Charity reminded herself—unless she counted Black Sun's finding her beneath the burned wagon. And Annie—she was her own kind of miracle. Both of them were up there waiting for her. She had to believe that and climb up to them.

Her feet found the rock and pushed off. Her hands found invisible holds that could only be detected by touch. Slowly, inch by inch, she moved toward the top of the crack.

The starry space above her head grew larger and opened. She was clambering up the rocks now, no longer dependent on the rope. Black Sun's strong hands seized her wrists, pulling her up beside him. He was all right. Annie was all right. Charity sank to the ground, her legs like jelly.

Black Sun gave her a few seconds to rest while he coiled the rope. Then he lifted the cradleboard and held it so Charity could slip her arms through the carrying straps.

“Come on!” Scooping up their provisions, he headed up the ridge. Still breathless, she scrambled after him. He kept to the rocky outcrops, where they were less likely to leave tracks. For Charity it was an agonizing effort, but Black Sun did not slow down and she didn't ask him to.