Page 40 of West Wind

“Do you speak English?” She looked directly at him, meeting his gaze. He didn’t smile, but his eyes sparkled.

He nodded. “A little.”

“I apologize for striking Swift Eagle, but he did promise no weapons,” she explained sensibly. “I couldn’t let him kill Shelley.”

“So you throw yourself in the path of Swift Eagle’s knife?” The older Cheyenne gave in to the smile that his eyes had only hinted at. His face became a mass of deep wrinkles when he grinned. “It would be a shame to see such a pretty white woman die for He-Who-Follows.”

She froze. She’d never doubted that Swift Eagle would stop the attack when she threw herself over Shelley. The thought that he might not had never occurred to her. Would it have made any difference? No, she decided quickly.

“I owe Shelley everything,” she said in a low voice. She found herself telling the old man about the false accusations, her attempts to run and hide, how Shelley had spirited her away from the Pinkerton agent. It was so easy to look into those eyes and tell the truth, the truth she’d been trying so hard to avoid for the past several months.

The old man nodded as he listened intently.

“It is Swift Eagle’s folly that he desires a white wife,” he said, his voice almost apologetic. “He believes a white squaw will make him a powerful warrior.” The old Indian shook his head. “He has begun to think too much like a white man, claiming that we own the land you travel over. No man owns the earth. We are a part of it. It can belong to no man.”

“It’s flattering that Swift Eagle wants me as his wife, but I won’t go with him.”

She lifted her chin defiantly as she stared at the majestic leader who stood, his arms crossed, no more than three feet away. He showed no signs that he’d understood her confession, that it had moved him in any way. He wasn’t fluent. Perhaps he hadn’t understood her at all.

“If you make me go, I’ll scream until I drive you all mad, and no one screams like I do. I have great lungs.”

“Show Red Wolf how you scream.” She could tell he was amused with her threat and was downplaying his concerns about Swift Eagle to humor her as he might a demanding child.

She took a deep breath and looked the old Indian in the eye. Years of training had given her a powerful voice, and she let loose with everything she had. Her scream split the early evening air. The old man stepped back in surprise. The Indians’ ponies whinnied and stomped their hooves; her own mare snorted and shook her head.

Annabelle’s scream continued unbroken, long after another woman would’ve run out of breath. The expression on Red Wolf’s face changed from amusement to consternation, then to one of pain. When she finally stopped, not winding down but coming to sudden halt, all eyes were on her.

“I can scream like that all night and all day, until you let me go or kill me.”

Red Wolf looked at her with a measure of respect. “No good to kill white man. Kill one, and ten come to take his place.”

She nodded. “I believe Swift Eagle will listen to you, that he respects your wisdom. I offer him my horse. She’s a fine mare, strong and sure-footed. I offer everything else that I own, if he will allow Shelley and me to go.”

Red Wolf wrinkled his brow and nodded slightly. “Perhaps if Swift Eagle comes away with gifts, he will not feel shamed. Let me see this fine animal.”

Annabelle ran to the wagon and unhitched her mare. She didn’t spare a glance for her fellow travelers as she led the horse to Red Wolf. He waited, his arms crossed and his countenance severe.

It wasn’t until she reached Red Wolf that she turned around and saw Shelley and Swift Eagle sitting up, mere inches apart in the dirt, their blood-covered faces turned to her. She’d never seen two more battered men.

First she offered the knife she’d plucked from the ground, handle first, to Red Wolf. “Please return this to Swift Eagle. Later.”

He refused to take the knife. “Swift Eagle will not want to fight again with a weapon that was taken from him in battle by a woman.”

She frowned. “I just didn’t want him to stab Shelley.”

Red Wolf’s warm hand closed over hers, wrapping her fingers around the handle. “You keep, Red Boots.”

She carefully slipped the blade into her boot, then reached into the saddlebag and withdrew her black dress.

“Are you married?” she asked as she held up the gown. “This is a fine dress, well made, good material. It will keep your wife warm in the winter.” The dress had not weathered her attempt at laundering very well. It was spotted and wrinkled, but it was in one piece.

Red Wolf fingered the material. “These gifts will be for Swift Eagle. One of his wives will take it.”

She lowered the dress slightly. “One of his wives? How many does he have?”

He leaned closer to her and lowered his voice. “Three. That is one too many.”

She took her sunbonnet, which was badly crushed, and shaped it in her hands as she presented it. “One of his wives will love this hat. It’s very fashionable.”