Frontier Courtship (14 page)

She didn’t think for a minute that Connell would harm her if she disobeyed.

But what the Cheyenne might do if they discovered Irene’s subterfuge in displaying the so-called magic of the watch was quite another matter. One Faith didn’t even want to consider.

F
lames from the communal fire in the center of the camp bathed the gathered throng in a shimmering aura. The aroma of roasted meat mingled with more earthy odors, swirling toward the heavens in smoky eddies that both tantalized and repulsed Faith.

Connell must have sensed her uneasiness, because he glanced back to tell her, “You’re doing fine. We’re almost there.”

In passing, Faith was able to pick out Spotted Fawn among the dancers primarily because the girl had the familiar quilt draped over her shoulders. Trancelike, the Cheyenne followed one another around the fire with a shuffling, bobbing gait, paying no heed to anything but the drums and their own repetitive steps and chants.

No wonder Connell had wanted her to stay inside the lodge! Getting too close to this ceremony could undoubtedly be dangerous as well as foolhardy, especially for someone who knew almost nothing about tribal lore. Clearly, her experiences with Spotted Fawn Woman, although fascinating and rewarding, had imparted a sense of security where none existed.

Faith shivered imperceptibly. She might be dressed as a Cheyenne, but she was still an outsider. It would behoove her to remember that, especially if she didn’t want a hank of her own hair added to Black Kettle’s scalp shirt!

She chanced a brief look at the chief. There he was, big as life, wearing the proof of people he’d killed like so many war trophies.

Which was exactly what they were, she reasoned. Those scalps were his medals of valor. They might be more grisly than the ribbons or stripes the soldiers at Fort Laramie wore, but they stood for exactly the same thing. What a sobering thought!

Studying Black Kettle from a distance, Faith was struck by his departure from the amiable nature he had displayed before. Here and now, he was the unquestionable ruler of all he surveyed; a force not to be trifled with. Everything about him, from his proud posture to his defiant expression, insisted that he be obeyed.

In Faith’s eyes, the only person more formidable looking was Connell McClain. Praying silently for his deliverance, she watched him stride forcefully toward the chief and the tribal council. He never faltered, not slowing until he stood eye to eye with Black Kettle.

Frenzied chanting and drumming ceased. Even the dogs seemed to sense a momentous event in the offing, because they stopped yapping.

Faith was sure anyone standing near her could hear the wild thumps of her heart.
She
certainly could. She held her breath as Connell began to speak. Though she couldn’t understand what he was saying, his voice came across strong, his confidence in himself and his cause evident. Irene couldn’t have asked for a better champion.

And speaking of Irene, where was she? Faith wondered, scanning the crowd.

That question was answered quickly. Connell swept his arm in a grandiose arc and pointed. Irene was approaching on foot, accompanied by Walks With Tree. Between them they led a magnificent horse. Bunches of feathers and beads were tied in the horse’s mane; a blanket was draped across his back and he was decorated with war paint. That was why it took Faith a few seconds to realize she was looking at Connell’s horse, Rojo!

Overwrought on behalf of the plainsman, she had to clamp her hand over her mouth to keep from protesting.

The assembled Cheyenne closed ranks behind the little procession and pressed in on their chief and his captive medicine woman.

Faith edged closer, too, wanting to keep Connell and Irene in sight, but she was far too short to see over the heads of those in front of her. Determined to follow the drama, she circled around to the opposite side of the campfire where a group of wide-eyed youngsters had gathered to watch the show. Their smiles of remembrance warmed her heart. One little girl even reached up and took her hand.

“Hello again,” Faith whispered.

The child tugged her to sit beside her on the ground.

“Okay.” How Faith wished she could educate this dear child, could tell her the truth about the so-called magical watch without risking everyone else’s life. She didn’t dare, of course. Too much was at stake. Yet it seemed so unfair to let the impressionable girl go on thinking a mere pocket watch held spiritual significance. Perhaps someday, after they’d rescued Charity and found Papa, she’d be able to return to the Cheyenne as a teacher or a missionary or both and set things right.

That notion took her totally by surprise. Before she could pursue it further, however, Irene held up the watch. On cue, the alarm sounded.

Children gasped. So did many of the adults. The little girl who had befriended Faith ducked beneath her arm to hide.

Faith pulled her closer and leaned down to offer quiet reassurance. “It’s okay, honey. Don’t be afraid. It won’t hurt you. I promise.”

She thought she’d spoken cautiously enough to keep from being overheard, yet in seconds two sinewy warriors appeared in front of her, grabbed her by the wrists and yanked her to her feet as easily as if she weighed less than one of the children she’d been sitting with.

Shock overrode any modicum of remaining restraint. “No!” she screeched. “Let go of me. I haven’t done anything!”

They ignored her protests and dragged her through the assembled throng while she writhed and kicked like a rabbit caught in a snare. The child left behind began to wail.

Faces passed in a blur. Angry faces. Hostile faces. Shouting faces. The braves delivered Faith to the chief and dropped her in a heap at his feet, then shoved her facedown into the dirt.

Spitting and struggling, she tried to right herself but was immediately forced prostrate once again. They pushed her so violently this time she could hardly catch her breath.

Over the sounds of the surrounding melee she heard Connell shout something in Cheyenne. His voice held so much pathos she needed no translation to know he was pleading on her behalf. She covered her face with her hands and lay very still, too shocked to think straight let alone pray rationally.

More nearby voices joined in expressions of rage. Faith’s head was spinning. This was all wrong! She was innocent of any crime. If only she could explain and apologize, surely they’d see she’d simply been trying to comfort a frightened child and had meant no harm to anyone.

She suddenly remembered that Black Kettle spoke English. He’d understand what she was trying to convey.

She pulled her knees under her, preparing to rise, but before she could even look up, Connell gave a guttural shout and threw himself over her as a human shield, knocking her back down and keeping her there.

His mouth was inches from her ear when he rasped, “Don’t move.”

“I—”

“And don’t say another word.”

Faith bit her lip so hard she tasted blood mixed with the gritty dust in her mouth. Poor Connell! What had she done? She clamped her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut tight. So much shouting was going on all around them it would have been impossible to tell who was saying what even if everyone had been speaking English. At this point, all Faith was certain of was her own precarious position—in more ways than one.

A lance tip had cut through Connell’s shirt to pierce his back near his left shoulder blade. He knew the quick thrust had been meant to warn, not to kill. Yet.

Every muscle in his body readied for defense while his mind insisted that such resistance was futile. What could one man do against hundreds of armed braves? More importantly, how could he hope to save Faith Beal when so many were now calling for her execution?

Reality hit him squarely. The truth was, he couldn’t save anyone. Especially not now. He’d shown his true allegiance when he’d thrown himself between Faith and the warriors’ weapons, thereby sealing his own fate. It was going to take a lot bigger influence than Irene’s watch could provide to get any of them out of this predicament alive. It was going to take genuine Divine intervention. The kind that came from only one source.

Connell hadn’t consciously, purposely, talked to his God since Little Rabbit Woman’s death. To pray now, when he was about to join her, seemed sacrilegious.

A surprising calm descended upon the plainsman. If he must die, he would face that fate with honor. With courage. With few regrets except his inability to deliver on all his well-intentioned promises.

Hunched over beneath Connell, Faith sensed a change in him that gave her hope. As soon as she figured out what he planned to do, she’d gladly cooperate and they’d all get out of this mess in one piece. Together. Just as originally planned. In the meantime, she wished somebody would say something in English so she’d have a little idea of what was going on.

As if in direct answer, Connell again warned, “Don’t move,” and began to slowly lift his upper body off her while remaining on his knees before Black Kettle.

Faith almost disobeyed his command when she heard his muffled groan of pain. It was only with the utmost effort that she kept her eyes covered, her posture submissive.

Head already bowed, eyes closed, she turned to silent prayer.
Dear Lord, please help Connell. Help us all. I know You sent him to help me and I disobeyed You when I didn’t listen to his advice. I’m so sorry. Please, please forgive me. And tell me what to do now, Father.

Above her, she heard courage in the plainsman’s voice as he said, “Black Kettle is a wise chief. A brave warrior. Will he make war on a crazy woman who knows nothing of the ways of the Cheyenne? Will his ancestors honor him for her death? If he must have another scalp, let him take one from a brave fighter who has proved himself in battle. Let him take mine.”

Faith’s heart leaped to her throat and choked off her breath. Was she doomed simply because she’d spoken out of turn? It seemed impossible. Yet Connell obviously thought so or he wouldn’t have offered himself in her place.

No, God! No!
her soul screamed.
There must be another way. There must be. Please!

A hush fell over the crowd. Tempted almost beyond her strength to resist, Faith yearned to rise and somehow defend her champion.

Reason prevailed. That was exactly the kind of rash behavior that had thrust them into this fiery furnace of wrath in the first place, she reminded herself, contrasting her current dilemma with the biblical deliverance of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego.

I trust God like they did. I do,
she insisted.
So where is God now? Where’s the answer to my prayer for deliverance?

Had God forsaken her because she’d been unable to overcome her jealousy even after she’d recognized it as a sin? Or was He expecting her to bravely declare her Christian faith and become a martyr? It wasn’t hard to admit that that particular prospect didn’t appeal to her one bit. It had been a lot easier to think of God as master of her destiny when she hadn’t been facing the final precious moments of life. Yet what better time for total commitment?

Faith took a deep breath as she raised her head and looked straight at Black Kettle. Their gazes locked. A barely perceptible tilt of the chief’s head was all the warriors needed to tell them to move Connell off her and keep him out of the way.

No longer encumbered, Faith got to her feet, spread her hands wide and bowed before the Cheyenne chief to say, “The child was afraid. I comforted her because I have the heart of a woman, of a mother. If I must die for showing a woman’s kindness, then I am ready.”

She straightened, proud and unwavering, her shoulders back, her chin raised. She didn’t know if Black Kettle was surprised at her unusual boldness and reasoning or not, but
she
was certainly shocked by the wisdom that had just popped out of her mouth! Moreover, she had absolutely no idea where those erudite thoughts had originated. They certainly hadn’t been rehearsed, nor had she planned to do anything but apologize profusely when she’d gotten to her feet in front of the chief.

Silence reigned. Any other time, Faith would have continued to babble, to try to add to her appeal, but absolutely nothing else came to mind. It was as if any connection between her brain and her lips had been severed.

Finally, Black Kettle spoke. “You have the courage of a warrior, Little Dove Woman. If your tongue did not wag all day and all night like the tail of a hungry dog I would buy you from your uncle and make you my fourth wife.” He chuckled to himself and waved her off. “Go with Pale Hawk and Singing Sun Woman and leave us in peace.”

“Yes, sir!” Faith’s grin was so wide her cheeks hurt.

Backing away, she glanced over her shoulder to locate Connell. The braves had released him, too, and he was standing near Irene. Walks With Tree now held the precious alarm watch and was hunched over it, muttering.

Faith skirted the old medicine man and went directly to Connell. She yearned to ask him if he was all right but decided that query could wait. The only serious question she had at present was in regard to their future mode of transportation since he’d obviously given his horse away. Surely, he didn’t intend to walk the rest of the way to California!

Sidling up to him, she waited for him to pay her heed. When he continued to ignore her she gave a light tug on his sleeve, expecting him to lean down so she could whisper to him privately.

Connell slipped an arm around her shoulders. Instead of bending an ear, however, he crooked his arm just so and placed his large hand directly over her mouth! Holding her thus, he nodded to the chief who laughed heartily.

Faith struggled in vain to dislodge the plainsman’s firm grip. It was no use. She couldn’t even pry his fingers loose by using both hands. Disgusted, she stopped trying.

Leaving her hands clamped over Connell’s, she watched the tableau unfolding by the fire. If Walks With Tree intended to impress everyone with his skill as guardian of the magic watch, he was going to have to hurry because the crowd was beginning to stir impatiently.

The old man held the watch aloft just as Irene had. Nothing happened. He lowered it, held it to his ear, then nodded sagely before speaking aside to Black Kettle.