Savage Courage (5 page)

He was endowed with great acuteness of perception, and he was witty, quick with a sense of humor, cheerful and companionable.

His code of morals was deep-rooted, and the challenges of his life had made him vigilant, ever on the alert.

“My sister, I understand your concern, but I must go alone,” Storm said, his eyes holding hers. “Too many riders would make a sound like thunder along the ground. Their horses’ hooves would alert the panther that it was being stalked. I have taught my steed to travel lightly, as do I in my moccasins. Do not fret so much, my sister. What must be done must be done, and soon. Once an animal tastes the blood of a human, it hungers for more.”

“My brother, what can I say to make you see the
true dangers today?” Dancing Willow said, sighing. “Must I remind you that I am a Seer, and that I know mystic arts, the power of chants, dreams, and potions? My teachers are the sun, moon, and stars. My brother, I listen to the stars at night. I study the curvature of the moon and the sun’s arc across the heavens. They are my mentors. I can predict the death of a man’s relative, the coming of a child. You know that, so often, what I predict comes true.”

She looked past him again, but this time not at the children. Her eyes followed the slow walk of a woman whose aged appearance did not match her years. She was bent and gray, bowed down by a tragedy that had occurred near the same time that their band had been attacked by the
pindah-lickoyee
.

“Look yonder, brother,” Dancing Willow said, motioning with a nod of her head to the woman who had gone to a stream for a jug of water. The weight of the jug made her shoulders bend even closer to the ground. “You do see her, do you not?”

“Yes, I see her,” Storm said, now also watching the slow gait of the woman. “I have yet to see happiness in her eyes since the day we found her half-alive and wandering amid a small grove of willows as we made our escape from the pony soldiers. She has yet to speak. We have never discovered her tribe or where she came from. We have never even discovered what she calls herself.”

“Had I not foretold finding the woman after the
whites had left her for dead?” Dancing Willow said, still watching the woman, whom they called No Name.

“
Ho
, that is true,” Storm said, still in awe of the way his sister had predicted that event. It still amazed him how the woman had lived after having been shot in the back by a white man’s bullet.

The bullet had still been lodged in her back when Storm had gone to her that day.

She had survived by sheer willpower, but never had she spoken since that day. It was as though the bullet had taken away her ability to speak, instead of her life.

“Storm, there is something else I must tell you,” Dancing Willow said, turning to gaze up at him. “Of late, I have seen another face in the stars. The face of an
ish-tia-nay
, a woman. She is Apache born, turned traitor to her heritage: She lives as white in the white world. If you come face to face with her, your life will be changed forever. This is another reason I plead with you not to go down the mountain today. I see your face and the woman’s together. This is not good, brother. Please remain in the village today. Let someone else hunt the panther and look upon the face of this woman.”

“If you saw my face with hers, does it not mean that it is meant to be?” Storm asked. “Why run from a mere woman?”

She grabbed him eagerly by an arm. “My
brother,” Dancing Willow said, her voice drawn. “If you go, your life will be changed forever.”

“No
ish-tia-nay
, not even my Seer sister, changes my life unless I wish it,” Storm said, gently easing her hand from his arm. “I will go today. I go now.”

He gazed at her slowly, regretting the signs of age the years had left on his sister. But although her hair was streaked with fine strands of gray, and wrinkles radiated from the corners of her dark eyes, she was still beautiful to him at the age of forty-five winters.

He sensed her loneliness, yet she refused to consider marriage. Like him, she lived solely for her people.

Disappointed that he would not heed her warning, yet knowing that nothing else she said would change his mind, Dancing Willow went back inside his lodge with him and watched as he prepared his weapons.

When he was ready to leave, he placed a gentle hand on her face and smiled. “I love you, big sister,” he said gently. “And thank you for caring so much. Had you not been with me through the years, I never would have become as strong a leader as I have. Your love and devotion made me a wise man.”

He bent low and kissed her cheek. “I love you, Dancing Willow,” he repeated as he stepped away from her. “But do you not think that it is time for you to let go? I must rule my own destiny, not your dreams or visions.”

“Be careful,” was all that she replied, then left his lodge as Storm went to his corral.

He mounted his black stallion, a beautiful animal with a white blaze on its face and white stockings. It was a wiry-looking horse, which he always rode with remarkable ease and grace.

He had chosen to arm himself with his rifle today, and it rested in the gunboot that hung at the right side of his horse as Storm kicked his steed into a slow lope from the village.

He traveled cautiously along the narrow pass and down the mountainside, troubled by his sister’s words.

She
had
predicted many things that came true. Was he riding into danger?

And . . . would he come face to face with the woman Dancing Willow had seen in the stars? If so, who was she, and what would she become to him?

Again he was reminded that he had not yet looked upon any woman with favor. He could not help wondering if this woman of his sister’s vision might change that.

No, his responsibilities must come first. With his chin held proudly high, he rode onward, his eyes searching constantly for the panther that had become deadly to his people.

Then the woman his sister had spoken of came to his mind again, and he wondered what she looked like. Was she beautiful?

He had to remind himself that if he did come across this
ish-tia-nay
, he must remember what else his sister had said about her. She was Apache, living as a white woman, in the white world. How could he not despise her the moment he saw her?

Yet . . . he could not help being intrigued by someone like her.

Graceful and useful all she does.
Blessing and blest where’er she goes.

—William Cowper

Dressed and ready to explore this land that had belonged to her people long before the white man came, Shoshana stood in George’s office.

She studied him, finding it harder and harder not to look at him with contempt now that she knew what he was guilty of.

Yes, he had given her the best life any young woman could wish for. But she had been content with her world before he came with the other soldiers to kill and maim. She had never wanted anything more than to be with her family and her true
people. She had never wanted anything other than to be Apache and to be raised as Apache!

But she had had no control over her destiny at that time. Now she kept the feelings that had been awakened in her quiet. She had learned how to control her feelings long ago when the white children at the various schools she had attended mocked her and called her a savage squaw.

Yes, she would work out her confused feelings for George Whaley inside her heart. There was no denying that he had tried in every way possible to make up for the wrong he had done her Apache people by treating her as though she were a princess.

But now that “princess” had come home. She ached to retrace her steps of long ago.

“Shoshana, do you hear me?” George said, bringing her out of her deep thoughts as he stepped away from his desk in his assigned office at Fort Chance.

“What?” Shoshana said, blinking her eyes as George came to stand directly before her. “Did you say something?”

“I was introducing you to this nice major, Shoshana,” George said, idly rubbing his right leg above the knee. “This is Major James Klein. Shoshana, he has been assigned the duty of escorting you today since you are so stubborn about wanting to leave the fort and explore.”

Blushing at her unintentional rudeness to the major,
Shoshana turned to the young man who stood straight and tall beside her in his freshly pressed blue uniform.

“Major Klein, it’s nice to know you,” she said, reaching a gloved hand toward him.

She herself was dressed in a leather riding skirt, a long-sleeved white blouse, riding boots, and gloves that were butter soft against her flesh.

“As it is to know you,” Major Klein said, blushing as he gazed into Shoshana’s dark eyes. “It is my pleasure to escort you today. I shall, at all costs, keep you safe from such a ruffian as Mountain Jack.”

“And anyone else who might be a threat,” George said, groaning as he wheeled himself around on his wooden leg. Gripping his cane hard, he went and sat down behind his desk again.

Shoshana smiled into Major Klein’s green eyes, finding him handsome with his square jaw and long, straight nose.

He was muscled beneath his uniform, and surely drew female attention whenever he entered a room back where there was civilization and women.

She would have singled him out with her own eyes at one time, but the world had changed for her when she arrived in Arizona.

She had only one thing on her mind now, and that was to familiarize herself with this land that she had roamed as a child. She hoped to run across one
of her people. She wanted to speak her mother’s Indian name and ask if anyone had heard of her.

“Young man,” George said, drawing Major Klein’s eyes back to him. “I can’t stress enough the importance of keeping an eye on my daughter at all times. And listen well to me when I say you must not travel far from this fort. Don’t let anything happen to Shoshana. Do not let her out of your sight. Don’t you ever forget the cunning of Mountain Jack, and most of all, why he is in this area. He would surely enjoy getting his hands on such beautiful hair as Shoshana’s!”

“How ghastly,” Shoshana gasped. She straightened her shoulders and tried to put from her mind that terrible reminder of what Mountain Jack did for a living.

She must, for nothing would dissuade her from what she planned to do.

If only her father would not treat her like a child. To have a soldier escort her at a time when she wanted to explore the land of her people was an insult, most certainly a bother.

While riding on land where her mother surely had been, she wanted to feel her mother’s presence. She wanted to have the opportunity to follow the vision she had had in her dreams. She wanted to believe that her mother was alive, and that she would somehow find her.

“Major Klein is not needed,” Shoshana suddenly blurted out. She placed her hands on her hips and lifted her chin stubbornly as she turned to the major. “You are excused. I apologize for having taken up your time, which could surely be put to more valuable use elsewhere.”

“Shoshana!” George said, pushing himself up from his chair. He placed the palms of his hands flat on the desk and leaned over to glare into her face, then turned to Major Klein. “Ignore her. She’s just showing her stubborn side. You’ve been brought here to escort my daughter. So be it.”

“Yes, sir,” Major Klein gulped out, now stiff as a board at Shoshana’s side.

Shoshana was not to be dissuaded. She glared into George’s angry eyes. “You know that I can defend myself if necessary,” she said tightly. “Must I remind you that I am a crack shot with a rifle?”

She had become a tomboy early on, especially after she realized just how different she was from the other children.

She was Apache, and that name had seemed a brand of sorts.

The taunts had gotten mean. She had felt the need to learn how to protect herself.

She had learned how to shoot from a young man who became smitten with her when she was ten and he was twelve.

He had seen the Apache in her as intriguing and thought her beautiful.

He would have done anything to get a kiss from her. That something was to teach her how to shoot his father’s rifle.

She smiled at the recollection of how many kisses she’d given him in payment!

It saddened her to realize that he had been killed on his very first outing when he got old enough to enlist. Ironically, it had been an Apache that had killed him.

Because of his lessons, she didn’t need any escort today, or ever.

Yet she knew just how stubborn George Whaley was when he made his mind up about something; she knew she had no choice but to go along with what he demanded today.

If she refused to agree with him, she would be stuck at the fort.

And there was so much about this Major Klein that reminded her of that younger boy . . . of that sweet Paul Breningmeyer.

She forced a smile, and made certain it was as sweet as possible as she gazed at George. “All right,” she said. “I know that you are doing this because you feel it is right. I understand. Now can we go? I’m anxious to be on my way.”

Colonel James Hawkins, the colonel in charge of
the fort, sauntered into the room at that moment. He was in full uniform, with shiny gold epaulets, and several medals pinned on his chest, his brown hair resting on his shoulders.

He had a lean, pockmarked face and a thin mustache. “Are you two ready to leave?” he asked, stopping and smiling from Shoshana to Major Klein.

“Yes, sir,” Major Klein said, stiffening and saluting the colonel.

“Yes, they’re ready, and I’ve given them both a lecture,” George said as he stepped around the desk, his wooden leg and cane thumping against the oak floor, his hand reaching out for the other colonel’s.

They shook hands, then Colonel Hawkins turned to Shoshana. “Young lady, I want to assure you that you are in good hands and will be absolutely safe with Major Klein,” he said, clasping his hands behind him. “The scalp hunter has been laying low, anyway.”

He slid a slow smile over to George. “I’m sure Mountain Jack has got wind of a certain Colonel George Whaley being in the area, and why,” he said. “George, the sandy-whiskered varmint’ll probably stay hidden as long as you’re here, not realizing that he’ll be sniffed out real soon
by
you.”