Bobby shivered. He knew what a difficult task it was. He’d had a few bullets removed from his own body in this lifetime. Agony coursed through him at the thought of Naomi having to endure such torture.
The little boy jabbered in Indian language to Standing Elk. After he responded, the boy ran away.
“My son, Silver Raven,” Standing Elk said. “He wants his mother and doesn’t understand that she is occupied.” The Indian sighed. “Come.” He gestured. “Let us see to your horse, and then we will speak.”
Bobby nodded. What other choice did he have?
When Thor was taken care of, Bobby sat with Standing Elk. “It was right for you to come here,” he said. “We have medicine that the white man does not. Your woman...what is her name?”
“Naomi.”
“Naomi...will have all she needs to survive.”
“And if she doesn’t? Survive?”
“Then it is the will of the Great Spirit, and we have no choice in the matter.” Black rubbed his temple, regarding Bobby with his black eyes. “What are you called, white man?”
“Morgan. Robert Morgan.”
“Are you hungry, Robert Morgan?”
Bobby’s stomach churned with a dull ache. “No.”
“You must eat. You must remain strong for your woman. I will take you to my father, the chief of our tribe. His name is Black Wolf.”
“I...I don’t have much to offer him for Naomi’s treatment. He can have my horse. My guns.”
“He will not ask you for such.”
“But...he is entitled to payment for his healers’ services.”
“We do not follow the way of the white man. We do not demand payment for what is our duty to give. The Great Spirit gifted Summer Breeze and Laughing Sun with their abilities to heal. It is their duty to use those gifts. To give where they are needed.”
Bobby struggled to maintain composure. Worry for Naomi overwhelmed him, coupled with his inability to understand the philosophy this Indian man spouted. He spoke of duty, yet his people had raped and killed Bobby’s ma, scalped his pa, stolen from them, set fire to their barn.
None of this made any sense at all.
None of it mattered anyway. All that mattered was Naomi.
As they readied to meet the chief, an Indian maiden rushed from the tipi. She spoke to Standing Elk in her native language.
“Your woman, Naomi, lives for now,” Standing Elk said to Bobby. “Summer Breeze has removed the bullet from her shoulder and sealed the wound. She is weak. But she lives.”
Relief swept through him, but fear for what lay ahead consumed his innards. His bowels clenched, and he fought the nausea that rose in his throat. “I need to see her.”
“She is with Laughing Sun. Summer Breeze says to expect fever. She will need to be watched closely.”
“Damn it, I need to see her!”
“You will. She cannot be moved, so you may stay with her in the healing tent.”
“Thank you.” Bobby fidgeted, unsure of what else to say. “Why do you help me?”
“Because you need my help. Your woman needs the help of my healers.”
“But you...your people...they’ve massacred white men. They’ve—”
“They’ve done what’s been done to them. But not me, and not this tribe. We have chosen to abide the white man’s laws, even if we do not agree with them. We have sought guidance from the Great Spirit. We move on when we must. We wish only to exist in peace.”