Savage Arrow (26 page)

“What . . . are . . . you doing?” Reginald shrieked, his eyes wild.

Thunder Horse purposely knocked Reginald’s glasses off. “You will need those no longer,” he said, grinding the heel of his moccasin into the glasses.

“No!” Reginald cried. “I can’t see a thing now. Why? Why would you do that?”

“Where you are going you will not need eyes,” Thunder Horse said flatly.

“What . . . do . . . you mean?” Reginald gulped out, squinting as he tried to see Thunder Horse’s face.

“You will soon understand,” Thunder Horse said.

“Please tell me what you’re going to do,” Reginald cried, tears pouring from his eyes. “I’m sorry for everything I did. Please forgive me. I promise never to cause you trouble again.”

“It is too late for words, especially words that are empty and mean nothing,” Thunder Horse said. He glared into Reginald’s eyes. “In the world of the Sioux, it is said that whatever a man steals in this world, he will be compelled to carry into the next. In other words, you, who are a notorious thief in the eyes of the
Sioux, will have a heavy load to carry in the after-world. Your load will be heavier than that of most criminals, for you are responsible for so many wrongful deeds against my people.”

“Oh, Lord, no,” Reginald said, then cried out in a strangled voice when Thunder Horse took him by the arm and pulled him into the cave.

“Here you will stay for eternity,” Thunder Horse said, giving Reginald a shove and causing him to fall to his knees.

“Lord, no, you can’t do this!” Reginald whimpered, scrambling to his feet.

He tried to leave the cave, but Thunder Horse hurriedly ordered his warriors to help him roll the huge boulder in place, stopping Reginald, but not his screams for mercy. His muffled cries could still be heard even after the cave entrance was completely blocked.

Jessie was shocked by what was happening, yet understood why Thunder Horse had chosen to avenge his people’s deaths in such a way.

It would be the worst possible death for Reginald, to be entombed forever among the spirits of the Sioux whom he had wronged.

A strange sort of silence emanated from the other side of the boulder, then a sudden bloodcurdling cry . . . and again silence.

Jessie looked quickly at Thunder Horse.

He gazed into her eyes. “It is over, finally over,” he said thickly. “Reginald Vineyard will never again work his evil against anyone.”

He raised his face to the sky, and his voice seemed to reach beyond the clouds as he cried, “It is done!”

Jessie was still numb from what had happened. She didn’t ask what had transpired inside the cave. She didn’t want to know.

They all mounted their steeds and left the cave, Jessie riding beside Thunder Horse.

They returned to the village to mourn and prepare the dead for burial. The preparations had to be quick, with solemn, hurried ceremonies.

Lone Wing knew that he had duties to perform, those of his people’s Historian. His first assignment was to record on buckskin what had happened today to those beloved people who would no longer hear the laughter of the young, who could no longer smoke their long-stemmed pipes as they sat around the fires of their people.

It was a bad day, one that no one would ever forget.

Later, after the burials, while final preparations were being made for the long journey ahead, Thunder Horse came to Jessie and embraced her. “I have one more thing to do before leaving for the Dakotas,” he said tightly. “I must make the outlaws who murdered my people pay for their deed.”

Although Jessie would like nothing more than to know that the man who’d killed her father and so many others was dead, she was afraid for Thunder Horse to go.

She was afraid that he wouldn’t return!

“Please don’t go,” she said, her voice breaking as
she gazed into his eyes. “Let it alone. Reginald, the one who set everything in motion, is dead. Were it not for him, those who died today would not have died.”

“It must be done,” Thunder Horse said, his eyes narrowing. “I cannot let my people down again, or I will feel I am not worthy of being their chief.”

Trying to understand, Jessie moved tenderly into Thunder Horse’s embrace. “If I lost you, I would not want to live,” she sobbed. “Please, oh, please come back to me . . . come back to your people.”

“I have many reasons to come back, so I assure you that I will,” Thunder Horse said. He stepped away from her and joined his warriors, who were streaking their faces and bare chests with black paint . . . black, the color used for warring!

Jessie was trying to be brave as she waited for Thunder Horse’s return, but she couldn’t help being terribly afraid for him. Bulldog Jones was one of the worst, most notorious outlaws in history.

Though her father had been linked with Bulldog Jones, he had convinced her that he had been a very different kind of outlaw. He had told her, after she’d heard about his past, that he had tried to use his skills with his gun to do good.

He had said that was why Bulldog Jones had eventually gunned him down. After his separation from her father, the notorious outlaw had realized that all along Two Guns Pete had been duping him. Though he had pretended to be vicious in front of Bulldog Jones, in truth he had helped the families who were affected by Bulldog Jones’s reign of terror.

Of course, Jessie had not known if that tale was true or not. It was possible her father had made up the
story of being a “good outlaw” in order to save face with her.

The fact remained that it was Bulldog Jones who’d killed her father and mother. She would never know for certain what had motivated him to kill her parents, or just what had transpired between him and her father.

And now, her beloved Thunder Horse, the man she wanted to live out her life with, was going up against the same red-whiskered villain who had claimed her parents’ lives. She couldn’t help being afraid that Bulldog Jones would get the best of Thunder Horse and his warriors.

“I can tell by the look in your eyes that you are afraid for my uncle,” Lone Wing said as he came to sit next to her.

Jade and Lee-Lee were napping before the start of the long journey. Sweet Willow and many of Thunder Horse’s people were also resting.

Everything was packed on horses and travois, awaiting Thunder Horse’s return. As soon as he and the warriors arrived home, the journey would begin.

“Jessie?”

Lone Wing’s voice brought her out of her reverie. “I’m sorry, Lone Wing,” she murmured. “What did you say?”

“I came to reassure you about my uncle and those who ride with him today,” he said softly, so as not to awaken those who slept. “No one can best him, not even the most notorious of outlaws.”

“But Thunder Horse isn’t a warring chief,” Jessie said, swallowing hard.

“That is true,” Lone Wing said. “But that does not mean he is not skilled enough to war against his enemies. He was taught those skills early in life.”

He reached over and took one of her hands in his. “He will return soon, victorious over evil,” he said softly. “And then we will leave for our new life in a new country.”

“Do you dread living on a reservation?” Jessie asked, enjoying the warmth and comfort of his hand in hers.

“No one wishes to be penned in,” Lone Wing said with the voice of a man. “But our people, the Sioux, have learned well the art of adapting. So shall we now.”

“Now that you are your people’s Historian, you have much to write, don’t you?” Jessie said somberly.

“
Ho
, I do,” Lone Wing said, turning his beautiful brown eyes toward the fresh graves in the distance, where the newly dead lay beneath the mounds of dirt and rocks. The rocks were used to keep animals from their loved ones.

He then turned his eyes back to Jessie. “I will be accurate in what I write,” he said. “Long years from now, when the next generation of the Fox band is curious about these times, our people will know what occurred this day. I will wait until the end of our journey to the Dakotas, and then I will go and sit alone on a bluff. As I look down upon my people while they prepare their new lodges for a new life, I will begin, truly begin, my time as Historian. I will leave nothing out about what happened here today, or on the long days of our journey.”

He swallowed hard, then gazed into Jessie’s eyes
again. “I will record the names, too, of those who will die on the trail to our new assigned home,” he said. “I hope those names are few.”

“I’m so sorry that my own flesh and blood interfered so terribly in your people’s lives,” Jessie said, tears of regret stinging the corners of her eyes. “I wish it could have been different. I fear that too many of your people will be reminded of my cousin’s evil when they look at me, for I am—was—his cousin.”

She shivered as she thought about Reginald’s horrible last screams. She had to believe that although it was pitch-black in the cave, he had been able to see something that had actually frightened him to death, for moments after that scream, there had been nothing but silence.

Yes, she truly believed he had died then, for surely what he had seen, or thought he had seen, had been far worse than anything that had appeared in his nightmares.

“You are never to concern yourself about my people’s feelings for you,” Lone Wing said softly. “They see the good in you, as do I, just like my chieftain uncle. They know you had no control over how your cousin behaved. Some people are born good . . . some bad. Your cousin was one of the worst of the bad.”

“Thank you for reassuring me,” Jessie said, reaching over and hugging him. “Lone Wing, you are so dear.”

He returned the embrace; then as Jessie scooted back to where she had been sitting, he looked again at the graves.

His eyes lingered on one in particular. “I find it so hard to believe that the Old One, our people’s Historian, is dead,” he said, his voice breaking. “He was all that was good on this earth. How could anyone have killed him?”

“Those who came today and took the precious lives of your loved ones had no sense of what it is to be good,” Jessie said.

She closed her eyes as she recalled her mother and father in their caskets on the day of their funerals. How needlessly they had died.

Her jaws tightened when she envisioned the look of victory on Bulldog Jones’s ugly face, even though she had never actually seen it. She just knew that he must have felt the thrill of victory. She hoped today that look would be erased forever.

“I hope he dies slowly,” she found herself saying aloud. She opened her eyes quickly, blushing when she saw Lone Wing gazing at her.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I . . . I . . . was thinking of the day Bulldog Jones left others dead . . . my mother and father.” She hung her head. “I have to admit that I want him to feel the lingering pain of death, to know that he has killed his last victim.”

“It is only natural that you would think that,” Lone Wing said. He reached a comforting hand to her cheek. “I am fighting the same feelings. That man cannot die slowly and painfully enough to satisfy me.”

Lee-Lee had awakened and she came to sit on Lone Wing’s other side. “Lone Wing, I still cannot believe that I am with you, and that we have a long life ahead
of us, together,” she said, tears sparkling in her beautiful dark eyes.

She looked over at her mother, who still slept. “
Ai hao
, my mother is no longer an unfortunate,” she murmured. “She is brave and free.”

That word “free” made Jessie look quickly at Lone Wing. She wasn’t sure if he felt truly free, now that his people would be living a life ruled by the United States Government.

How shamefully the government had treated the Indians. But nothing could be done now to change the past. No doubt it would be written down in history that the government had finally gotten the best of the “savages,” taming them like some would tame wild horses.

“
Ho
, Lee-Lee, you are free, and you will stay with me and my people and be sheltered and loved by us all,” Lone Wing said.

To him freedom was a feeling inside one’s heart. He would never allow himself to feel anything less than free, even though the United States Government might try to dictate everything his Fox band would do.

“I only wish that Tak Ming were here to feel the same freedom and love that I feel,” Lee-Lee said, a sob catching in her throat.

“Who is Tak Ming?” Jessie asked.

“My brother,” Lee-Lee murmured, as Lone Wing wiped tears from her cheeks with his fingertips. “He died on the big ship that brought us from China.” She lowered her eyes. “My brother was not a strong man. He died after only a few weeks out at sea.”

Jessie’s heart broke for the young and beautiful woman. She went over and held her in her embrace. “I can see how much you miss your brother,” she said softly. “But it is good that you and your mother made the passage alive. And now, Lee-Lee, you and your mother will never have to feel like slaves again. You will be loved by the Sioux.”

She didn’t see Lee-Lee looking past her shoulder at Lone Wing. The look in her eyes was proof that she loved the young man who had befriended her.

“I already feel very loved,” Lee-Lee said, smiling at Lone Wing through her tears.

“That is wonderful,” Jessie said. Then her heart skipped a beat as she heard horses arriving in the distance. How she hoped they were bringing her loved one back to her.

She stood quickly and stepped away from Lee-Lee and Lone Wing. Her pulse raced when she saw the riders in the distance and realized they were the Sioux, not the outlaws. She was now sure that the Sioux had been victorious and the damnable outlaw and his gang would spill no more blood.

Her heart melted when she made out Thunder Horse in the lead, his chin held high and victorious.

The sound of the horses had awakened everyone who had been sleeping beside the fire. Quickly, they scrambled to their feet.

The women broke into victory songs as the warriors who had stayed behind to protect the village ran to meet Thunder Horse.

Thunder Horse waved to his warriors as they approached
him, then rode past them toward his people, who were standing and singing for him. His eyes smiled into those of his people. Then he spotted Jessie standing there, tears filling her eyes as she smiled and waved at him.