Wild Thunder (16 page)

Responding to her need, the very air charged with their building pleasure, Strong Wolf plunged himself more deeply into her pulsing cleft, feeling the clasping of her moist inner flesh. He gripped her shoulders. His mouth brushed her cheeks, her ears, then lightly and tenderly kissed her eyelids.

“My woman,” he whispered into her ear. He felt his temperature rising, her spasmodic gasps proving that she was nearing her own sought-for release.

He pressed his cheek against one of her breasts and fell back into a wild, dizzying rhythm inside her, his breath filling the morning air with its gasps of pleasure.

“Now!” Hannah cried, feeling the familiar sensations that came moments before finding total ecstasy within the arms of her beloved. “I feel it. Oh, Strong Wolf,
now
!”

She clung to him as she became overwhelmed with pleasure, the spasms of his body proving to her that they had reached the ultimate of pleasure together.

Afterward they lay together, clinging, breathing more easily. Hannah was suddenly aware again of the birds in the trees overhead, of the soft spiraling of the sun as it laced its way through a break in the trees, and of a distant voice of frogs vibrating from the thickets that grew down into the stream.

“I really must go,” Hannah said, easing gently from Strong Wolf's embrace. “I promised Chuck that I would study the journals again today. I . . . I . . . just can't seem to understand their entries.”

Strong Wolf grabbed her by the wrist and brought her down beside him again, but only to give her one last kiss. He kissed her, then rose with her from the blanket and dressed.

“One day soon you will not have to think of journals,” Strong Wolf said, sliding his fringed, buckskin breeches up his muscled legs. “You will be my wife. It will be good to know that when I come to my lodge, you will be there.”

“Always,” Hannah said, going to him, running her fingers over his chest. She leaned down and flicked her tongue over one of his nipples, smiling when she heard him suck in a wild breath of pleasure.

“My woman, do you wish to return to your brother today?” Strong Wolf said, taking her gently by her shoulders, leading her away from him.

“Yes, I
must,
” Hannah said, eyes innocently wide.

“Then, do not torment this man who will soon be your husband by sending his heart into another spinning,” he said, laughing softly. He bent over, grabbed his shirt, and quickly had it over his head.

“One day soon I shall torment you all I wish,” Hannah mocked as she finished dressing. “For I will be with you both day and night. I shall torment you mercilessly with my kisses and caresses.”

She ran her fingers through her hair in an effort to remove the tangles, then gasped with pleasure when he drew her against the hard frame of his body to kiss her again.

She gyrated her body against his, wanting more, regretting having to leave him. “I need you,” she whispered, her one hand feeling his own need through the fabric of his breeches. “Should we, perhaps, wait awhile longer?”

“No, it's best not,” Strong Wolf said. He eased her away from him. “You go your way. I will go mine. Soon our paths will not have to cross, but come together as one. We will only say good-bye for short intervals when I am gone to tend to the duties of my people.”

Sighing, Hannah watched him shake the blanket out, then fold it and return it to his parfleche bag. She walked then to her buggy and climbed onto the seat.

Taking up the slack reins, she gazed over at Strong Wolf as he swung himself into his saddle.

“We don't dare kiss good-bye,” Hannah said, knowing that to even touch him again would most certainly alter her plans for the day.

“No, we dare not kiss again,” Strong Wolf said, smiling at her. “Nor even touch. Good-bye for now, Hannah. We will be together again soon.”

“Yes, soon,” Hannah whispered as he wheeled his horse around and rode away from her.

Now familiar with the land, Hannah knew her way back to her brother's ranch. She had only a short way to go, already at his pastureland.

She gazed in the distance at her brother's ranch house, admiring it. Then she looked at the outbuildings and gazed at the bunkhouse. She could see several men mulling about there, and thought of Tiny.

“The weasel,” she murmured. “But how on earth am I ever to get my brother to fire him? Even this last incident probably didn't convince him that he is up to no good. What
is
his hold on my brother?”

Her brother had explained away Tiny's latest attempts at discrediting Strong Wolf, by saying that Tiny was hardly different from a large majority of white people who didn't like Indians.

Yet she felt as though she had achieved something by her latest talk with her brother. As she had talked against Tiny, the very man who made the daily entries in her brother's journals, she had watched Chuck take out a magnifying glass to study the figures on the pages.

She could tell by his reaction, that although mainly seeing shadows and light as he had looked at the figures, he had seen something that had caused him to glance up at her, his face pale with discovery.

He
had
seen something questionable in the entries!

Yet again he had scoffed about it, saying that Tiny wouldn't have the nerve to try and alter the figures.

Not knowing anything about bookkeeping, Hannah felt helpless, yet at least she knew that her brother's suspicions had been aroused.

And if Clara would agree to come and see to Chuck's best interests,
she
would know whether or not Tiny was scheming to swindle her brother, for she was a skilled mathematician.

“Clara, you've got to come,” she whispered, then rode on toward the house, frowning at Tiny as she passed by him.

His sly smile sent goose bumps up and down her flesh.

Thou must be true thyself,
If thou the truth wouldn't teach.

—H
ORATIUS
B
ONAR

 

 

 

The next day, Strong Wolf and several warriors were on the hunt for the colonel's meat. Three deer were tied to the backs of horses, with plans to kill at least one more before heading back to the fort with the friendship offerings.

As Strong Wolf rode onward, a blue heron flew out from the brush, its wide wings flapping in a slow beat.

Looking down at the ground, Strong Wolf saw the whiteness of thistle seeds, that which the Maker had placed on the earth as a cushion for those who traveled often in the forest.

He saw jewelweed, balm against the sting of nettle and poison ivy. He also saw the three-leaved raspberry, the fox grape, and the leaves of ginger.

Yes, he thought to himself, it was a good place for his people, a land of loveliness. He was proud to have led them there, although he was constantly faced with challenges with the white man.

The hunt was needed today to again guarantee solid friendships with those at the fort.

He was willing to do this as long as they, in turn, displayed their ways of friendship toward the Potawatomis!

The sun was warm on Strong Wolf's bare chest. His breechclout fluttered in the breeze as he spied another deer in the path a short distance away.

He drew a right rein, his horse stopping at the command.

He yanked his bow off his shoulder, slipped an arrow from the quiver and notched it to the bowstring, then took steady aim. He whispered his prayer to the deer.

He looked quickly elsewhere when a sudden spattering of gunfire rang through the dense forest, the sparks of the blast catching Strong Wolf's eyes just as he saw movement.

Proud Heart rode up to his side. “White hunters!” he cried.

Soon they realized that the white men were more than that. While one of the white men went and stood over the downed deer, the others came out of hiding on horseback from all sides and surrounded the Potawatomis braves, their rifles aimed at them.

Lowering his bow to his side, the arrow still notched, Strong Wolf looked slowly from man to man, recognizing none of them.

“And so what have we
here
?” one of the whiskered men said, laughing in a strange sort of snort. “A pack of savages.”

“Who are you, and what are you doing on land of the Potawatomis?” Strong Wolf asked, his voice guarded.

“Oh?” one of them said, forking a thick eyebrow, “I don't see no signs anywhere sayin' this is Injun land.” He gazed over at the man beside him. “Frank? Do you see any sign sayin' this land belongs to anyone in particular? Wouldn't you say anyone can hunt here that wants to?”

Frank edged his horse closer to Strong Wolf's. “Yeah, even Injuns are fair game on the hunt, wouldn't you say?” he said, chuckling.

Suddenly Strong Wolf's bow was grabbed away from him and tossed to the ground, his arrow falling limply away from the string.

White Beaver, one of Strong Wolf's most valiant braves, was knocked from his horse with the butt end of a rifle.

Strong Wolf watched helplessly as one of the white men placed a rope around one of Strong Wolf's other braves, and dragged him from his steed.

Hate swelled inside Strong Wolf's heart when the warrior was dragged behind a horse, gagging and grabbing at the rope around his throat, until he finally quit struggling and lay dead when the man finally stopped.

While the men became caught up in their fits of laughter, that gave Strong Wolf and his warriors the chance to finally defend themselves.

Strong Wolf leaned quickly over and grabbed his bow up from the ground, notched an arrow, and sent it through the heart of the man who went by the name of Frank.

Proud Heart and the others drew their rifles from their gun boots and killed two more assailants before the others got away in a frenzy on their horses.

Strong Wolf watched until the men were out of sight, then slid from his saddle.

He dropped his bow to the ground and ran to the warrior who lay in a heap, rope burns around his neck. He knelt down beside him and lay his head on his lap, tears of regret flooding his eyes.

“Son of Sky,” Strong Wolf said, caressing the dead man's cheek. “You died so needlessly!”

Dazed, White Beaver moved to his feet. Proud Heart held onto him by an arm as they both went to Strong Wolf and stared down at their fallen brother.

Then Proud Heart looked at the dead white men, then into the distance, where the other white men had fled to safety.

“Strong Wolf, the white men are settlers who are not familiar with how things should be in the Kansas Territory?” he questioned, his voice hollow of feeling.

“No, that is not so,” Strong Wolf said, glaring at Proud Heart.

“You know them?” Proud Heart said, kneeling beside Strong Wolf, also gently touching the face of the beloved departed.

“
We
know them,” Strong Wolf mumbled. “Did you not see the brand on the rumps of the horses? As they rode away, I saw the brand! It is one familiar to us!”

“I did not take time to look,” Proud Heart said softly.

“I made the time,” Strong Wolf said bitterly. “As they rode away, the cowards they became under the fire of our weapons, I recognized the brand that is used by a rancher that sits not all that far from Chuck Kody's ranch.”

“His name is?”

“Bryant. Jeremiah Bryant,” White Beaver said as he glared down at Son of Sky.

Proud Heart gasped. “I am familiar with the man,” he said, looking at White Beaver and then at Strong Wolf. “I have seen him while at the trading post.”

“And did he show resentment while you were near him?” Strong Wolf said, his eyes points of fire.

“Yes, I do remember feeling the coldness that came from him when we stood perhaps too close together while making trade,” Proud Heart said, nodding.

“I have also felt his resentment,” White Beaver added as he rubbed a contusion that was growing purple on his chest, where the rifle had struck him.

“He is our man,” Strong Wolf said, looking in the direction of Jeremiah Bryant's ranch. “He is responsible for the death of our warrior.”

“But, Strong Wolf, he was not among those who did this,” Proud Heart said, eyes narrowing in thought.

“He whose men kill, condones the killing, not perhaps by giving the order
to
kill, but by having men under his employ who have the heart
of
killers,” Strong Wolf said bitterly. “He is no less guilty than if he himself had tied the rope around Son of Sky's neck.”

“And what do we do about this atrocity against our people today?” White Beaver said, knowing Strong Wolf's strong feelings for peace.

“Yes, what is your plan, Strong Wolf?” Proud Heart said, his eyes questioning Strong Wolf.

“And what would
you
do were you chief and had choices to make about such deeds done today, Proud Heart?” Strong Wolf challenged. “One day you alone, when you are chief, will have to make choices like those facing me today, for
your
people.”

“I would not have to think hard and long about that,” Proud Heart said, his jaw tightening. “I would say go and destroy Jeremiah Bryant's ranch, but be careful not to kill any more white men.”

Proud Heart looked down at his friend who lay dead in the sun, then looked at the Potawatomis warriors who always wished to see another sunrise so that they would be there for their children. “There have been enough killings today,” he mumbled.

“Your thoughts match my own,” Strong Wolf said, nodding.

He lifted Son of Sky into his arms and carried him to his horse. He nodded to a warrior who knew by the silent order to remove the deer that now lay behind Strong Wolf's saddle.

The warrior removed the deer and placed it on his own horse, while Strong Wolf tied Son of Sky on his.

“The deer,” White Beaver said. “What are we to do with them?”

“Did I not give my word to Patrick that I would bring more meat for his soldiers' tables?” Strong Wolf said, mounting his horse.

White Beaver nodded as he slowly swung himself into his saddle.

“I keep my word,” Strong Wolf grumbled. “We will take the meat to the fort, then go home and deliver the dead to his loved ones.
Then
we will make plans for an attack. We
will
avenge the deaths of our downed brother!”

“It could start a war,” Proud Heart said, eyeing Strong Wolf carefully.

“What we do is right, and let the white soldiers come. They will soon know they should not interfere in our time of vengeance,” Strong Wolf said coldly. “I tire of having to look the other way when things against our people continue to happen!”

He gazed down at the three dead white men. Then he nodded to two of his warriors who had no deer tied to their steeds. “Get the white men,” he flatly ordered. “We shall deliver them as well as deliver the meat.”

“One look at the dead white men will cause us to become surrounded by soldiers,” White Beaver softly argued.

“You do not understand,” Strong Wolf said, leaning closer to White Beaver. “First we deliver these dead white men to Jeremiah Bryant's land. We leave them to be found by them, not by soldiers. Then we deliver the deer.”

They rode off. They first threw the dead white men at the far edge of Jeremiah Bryant's ranch, then went and dumped the deer just outside of the gate at the fort.

When soldiers came and gaped openly at Strong Wolf, and then at the one fallen brother tied to the horse, Strong Wolf gazed at them with a silent loathing.

“Take the meat to your colonel, and also take him the news that, while hunting for meat for your tables, white men came and killed my brave as though he were nothing less than deer meat himself!” he shouted.

He then rode away, his heart thumping wildly within his chest, his anger so deep and hard to control.

He rode without stopping until he reached his village. Long shadows rippled over the ground, and as he gazed heavenward, he spied the Milky Way.

“Oh, bridge of souls,” he whispered. “Where souls pass from one life to the other. Tonight, welcome one more of my people!”

Then he delivered the dead to the door of his family.

Strong Wolf cringed and closed his eyes as the wailing began.