Elaine Barbieri (17 page)

“Your offer will prolong our fight for sovereignty on the frontier.”

“Lieutenant—”

“The blood of every soldier that’s shed because of it will be on your hands.”

His gaze narrowing, Thurston responded unexpectedly “You don’t fool me, Lieutenant.”

His agitation barely restrained, Hill returned, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You came to the frontier looking for glory as an Indian fighter, and you didn’t find it. Your attitude brought you discredit, and frustration embittered you. You don’t care about the blood that might be shed, as long as it isn’t your own, and as long as it looks good on your record.”

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” His jaw tight, Thurston continued, “I think it is. I will, however, see to it that your statement goes on the record. With it will go my evaluation, stating that an officer like you has no place on the frontier. That said, I want to make clear that since you are here and in my service, I expect you to disregard your personal opinions to follow orders without exception. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I promise you, that when this present crisis is settled, I will do my best to see that you are given an assignment elsewhere, where your personal convictions will not be in such sharp conflict with your duty.”

“Yes, sir.”

“In light of the circumstances, you won’t be needed during this briefing any longer. You are dismissed.”

Snapping a sharp salute, Lieutenant Hill turned on his heel, and left the room. Drawing the door closed behind him, he paused in an effort to control his outrage.

… I’ll do my best to see that you’ll be placed on assignment elsewhere …

He knew what that meant. Reassignment accompanied by a negative evaluation—another blot on his record that would end his military career.

Humiliation. Failure!

Hill started stiffly down the hallway.

“Lieutenant.”

Turning abruptly toward the familiar voice, Hill saw Sergeant Wallace standing in the shadows a few feet away. When he did not respond, Wallace asked boldly, “What’s going on in there? I’m hearing a lot of rumors that don’t sound too good to me. You ain’t going to stand by and let them two turn things around so’s the Cheyenne get away with everything they’ve done, are you?”

Hill still did not respond and Wallace asked harshly, “Ain’t you got nothing to say? What are you going to do about what’s happening?”

Hill stared at the burly sergeant.

Yes, what
was
he going to do about it?

Surrounded by warriors convened in council, White Horse addressed Shadow Walker.

“By what name is your captive called by her people?”

Shadow Walker did not immediately respond. He had arrived back at the camp with Miranda only minutes earlier and had been immediately called to White Horse’s lodge with the other warriors of his camp. He had been surprised to see Leaning Tree standing beside the chief, and the beating of his heart had quickened at the realization that only a message of great importance would ride with Black Hand’s messenger.

Yet White Horse had begun by asking Miranda’s name.

At Shadow Walker’s hesitation, White Horse held up the sheet in his hand. His heavy features tightly composed, he continued, “This paper comes from the Great White Father in Washington. It speaks of Red Shirt and of a new wisdom that seeks to deal more fairly with the Cheyenne.”

His attention acute at the mention of Red Shirt’s name, Shadow Walker responded, “How does this ‘new wisdom’ relate to my captive?”

Still clutching the missive tightly, White Horse continued, “This paper also speaks of a girl believed to have been taken captive by the Cheyenne. This girl is important to the white man’s horse soldiers because her father sits high in rank among them. They seek her return. The Great White Father hopes to prove the intentions of his new wisdom with an exchange of captives—Red Shirt for this girl.”

“My captive is not the girl you seek.” Responding
without hesitation, Shadow Walker continued, “She has spoken of her father, but has never claimed him to be a horse soldier—which she would proudly have done if it were true.”

“The daughter of the horse soldier is named Miranda, as it is said within the camp that your captive is also named.”

Momentarily taken aback, Shadow Walker insisted, “It is another girl.”

“Her father is Major Thurston, who commands at Fort Walters.”

Shadow Walker shook his head.

“The girl they seek has yellow hair and her eyes are the color of the sky, similar to your captive.” It could not be.

“She was taken while riding alone on a great black mare, near the ranch of settlers known to the white man by the name
Calhoun
.”

But it was.

Shadow Walker went suddenly still. Incredulity claimed his senses. Miranda, the daughter of an important horse soldier—a truth kept carefully concealed from him through long hours while they had talked; a truth that she knew would endanger the camp if her presence there became known to her father; a truth held secret to give clear advantage to the white man’s horse soldiers, with no thought to the Cheyenne blood that might be shed should
they come to rescue her.

Shadow Walker replied, “Yes, my captive is the girl the soldiers seek.”

His scrutiny intense, White Horse continued, “To prove their good will, the horse soldiers would exchange Red Shirt for the girl at a time and place that we would name—the exchange to be followed later by a council to set aside differences, so we might go forward in peace.”

“Peace …” Miranda’s duplicity burning deep, Shadow Walker hissed, “You would trust words of peace when such words have been so easily cast aside before?”

“I would trust if Red Shirt rode free again.” His brow furrowed, White Horse turned to scrutinize the warriors who had kept their silence, seeking their reaction.

“Red Shirt for the girl!” Speaking up with sudden zeal, Spotted Bear turned toward Shadow Walker, continuing, “I would accept that exchange gladly to gain Red Shirt’s freedom. When Red Shirt walks free again, we may then test more thoroughly the Great White Father’s hunger for peace.”

An affirmative murmur rose from the warriors assembled and Spotted Bear’s gaze glowed with triumph.

Maintaining a stiff silence, Shadow Walker sought to absorb the startling revelations:

Miranda, who had betrayed him with her silence, to be exchanged for Red Shirt.

Red Shirt to be freed without the shedding of blood.

Peace to be discussed with trust and candor evoked by the exchange.

All would come to pass if he agreed to surrender Miranda.

That decision suddenly beyond him, Shadow Walker abruptly strode from the council, leaving a deadening silence behind him. Walking past Miranda when she stepped into his path, he was about to mount his horse when a feeble voice turned him to see Two Moons. The old squaw raised a hand toward him in a silent plea. He stood motionless as she whispered, “I must speak to you before you leave. I must tell you of a vision I saw in the flames. I saw blood. I heard the dying cries of our people. I saw the girl seated among the horse soldiers. She—”

Thrusting Two Moons roughly aside, Spotted Bear interrupted her recitation. He glared at Shadow Walker and spat in a voice carrying clearly within the camp, “Shadow Walker turns his back on the council. The girl has made a woman of him! Rather than surrender her, he would forsake his debt to Red Shirt and allow a great warrior of his people to die in bondage. He dishonors his Cheyenne blood and disgraces his people!”

Then, addressing Shadow Walker directly, his voice deepening with contempt, Spotted Bear added, “I charge Shadow Walker here, in the presence of all, to remember that he is Cheyenne.”

Spotted Bear’s words rang on the silence as Shadow
Walker scanned the circle gathering around them. He saw warriors by whose sides he had fought and shed blood; and squaws, young and old, widows and young matrons, awaiting his reply. To the rear, White Horse remained silent and intent, while Two Moons looked at him with eyes that were dark pinpoints of light.

Apart from them all stood Miranda, her pale face drained of color.

Shadow Walker held Miranda’s gaze. She had betrayed him. With sudden clarity, he realized he had allowed her a victory over him in a way he had never envisioned—that in the intimate battle waged between them, he had somehow allowed their positions to become reversed so that he had become Miranda’s captive.

Self-contempt rising full and hot inside him, Shadow Walker addressed White Horse. His voice carrying clearly to the assembled crowd, he said simply, “The girl is yours to do with as you choose.”

Ignoring the sound of Miranda’s gasp, Shadow Walker mounted up and left the camp behind him.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Major Thurston and a mounted contingent three hundred strong rode with solemn caution through the mid-morning sunlight of the wilderness terrain. Aware that his men’s sober expressions did not reflect unanimous approval of the endeavor before them, Major Thurston glanced at Tom Edwards, who rode at his side. The silent Indian agent was as somber as they were.

Glancing back at the Indian riding in the center of a heavily armed detail, Major Thurston frowned. The past week had been fraught with tension as the fort waited for a response to the exchange offered to the Cheyenne. The exchange was accepted and agreement had been reached on a neutral location where it was to take place, yet tension had intensified when Red Shirt was delivered to Fort Walters in preparation for the exchange.

Standing tall and proud despite his harsh extended confinement, Red Shirt had not spoken a word upon entering the fort—but the aura of power emanating from the proud warrior had been almost palpable. The men in his command had reacted strongly, necessitating warnings that he knew had chafed.

An hour’s eastward travel lay before them, confirming that the sun would be at the Cheyennes’ back when they met—a simple advantage that Major Thurston knew was not accidental. Fearful of upsetting the delicate balance of negotiations, he had accepted the location that Chief White Horse had chosen despite his misgivings at the unfamiliarity of the territory. He had countered that deficiency by ordering two patrols to travel at the outskirts of their contingent to scout for suspicious circumstances.

Major Thurston’s concerns deepened at the sight of Lieutenant Hill’s scowl where he rode at the head of Red Shirt’s guard. Unwilling to allow Hill to ride at his side in a position of confidence, he had chosen instead to place Hill where he would retain an
appearance
of confidence—an uncomfortable necessity until he was able to effect the man’s transfer.

Turning back toward the trail ahead, Major Thurston concentrated on the exchange to occur and the knowledge that at that very moment, Miranda was traveling toward them—and toward her freedom.

Miranda would soon be safe at home, where she belonged.

That thought foremost, Major Thurston also reminded himself that in saving his daughter, he was also advancing the cause of peace by allowing the military the opportunity
for a legitimate exchange that would set to rights a flagrant violation of a truce—a dishonorable act perpetrated against the Cheyenne that never should have occurred.

A legitimate exchange. A step toward peace. Miranda delivered back safely to him.

Major Thurston’s concerned scrutiny of the terrain grew more vigilant. Just one more hour.

The rolling grassland stretched out interminably into the distance as Miranda sat her horse in silence. Sober-faced warriors surrounded her where she remained at the rear of the Cheyenne force that had gathered over the past week in preparation for the exchange.

Ahead to her right, Miranda saw Black Hand’s warriors sat their horses, prepared for whatever the next few hours would bring. Ahead to her left, she saw White Horse and his braves appeared equally solemn … and ready. Miranda’s gaze lingered on Shadow Walker, where he sat mounted at White Horse’s right, and her throat choked tight. Shadow Walker had attempted no contact with her since the moment when he had renounced his claim on her and walked away.

Miranda forced back the familiar pain that memory evoked. During the long days between, while she had remained in Rattling Blanket’s lodge with guards at the door, Spotted Bear’s denouncement of Shadow Walker had
resounded in her ears. The stinging realization that she was the cause of Shadow Walker’s humiliation had tormented her. The long nights had been the hardest, however, while thoughts of Shadow Walker’s tenderness, his gentle touch and loving words, had wrung her heart dry.

Feeling the heat of someone’s gaze, Miranda turned abruptly to see Spotted Bear staring at her from where he sat mounted a distance from the assembled braves. She saw a hard smile touch his lips, and a chill ran down her spine at its silent menace. Refusing to allow its intimidation, she dismissed him with a glance, then turned back to the terrain ahead.

Her heart beginning a slow pounding, Miranda saw movement in the distance. She stared, refusing to surrender the sight until an advancing military column came clearly into view.