White Fire

And if the colonel saw fit to still try to dictate his life, White Fire would find some other means of employment. He could trap and sell pelts until he made enough money to make a comfortable life for his son. He knew enough about trapping to get rich in six months.

That would also be the way he would provide for his wife, for he would marry Flame, no matter how her father might threaten him. Or Flame.

White Fire would protect Flame with his life, especially against a tyrannical father.

She was old enough to know her own mind, her own heart.

“I came on the same riverboat that brought Miss Reshelle to the fort from St. Louis,” Lieutenant Green said. “I was at Fort Jefferson Barracks for two years, training to live in the wilderness.”

“And you prefer the Minnesota Territory over St. Louis?” White Fire asked, watching the wide gate of the fort as they approached it.

“Yes, sir,” Lieutenant Green said, smiling. “I hope to stay here for many years.”

Lieutenant Green then turned to White Fire. “Your father, Colonel Dowling, is used as an example at Fort Jefferson Barracks,” he said, drawing his eyes quickly to him. “He is much admired. He was the epitome of what an infantry officer is about.”

White Fire swallowed hard. His eyes wavered as, in his mind, he saw his father in his freshly ironed blue uniform, the brass buttons shining.

As a child, White Fire had followed his father around, eyes wide in admiration of his handsomeness in his uniform, and his square-shouldered way of walking.

“How did you know that he was my father?” White Fire blurted out, riding onto the parade ground with the lieutenant.

“You are a part of the conversation when people speak of your father,” Lieutenant Green said, smiling. “Everyone knew how proud your father was of you even if you are a ’br—”

White Fire’s insides tightened when he realized that the lieutenant had stopped just short of saying the word that had been like a thorn in his side ever since that first person had called him—a ’breed. He looked away from the lie

utenant, and rode on up to the officers’ quarters without him.

As he dismounted and tied his reins to a hitching rail, White Fire studied the four horses tied alongside his. He saw markings on the rumps of the horses in the shape of hands. They were markings of the Sioux.

His gut twisted at the thought of coming face-to-face with any Sioux now, after having just been released from Sioux captivity.

But realizing that Indians were there surely to meet with the colonel, made White Fire forget about his thought that he might have been summoned because of his relationship with the colonel’s daughter. He was surely asked there in the capacity of interpreter.

His right hand clasping his rifle tightly, and with Lieutenant Green again at his side, White Fire glared down the long corridor that led to Colonel Russell’s office. He tried to prepare himself for whoever was waiting there, be it a Sioux that he might know, or a Sioux who was a total stranger to him.

A Sioux was a Sioux and his enemy!

The young lieutenant stepped aside and stayed outside in the corridor as White Fire went into the colonel’s office.

When White Fire saw who was there, with three of his warriors standing at the back of the room, their arms crossed, he took an unsteady step backward. It was the very Sioux who had taken him hostage.

White Fire could hardly believe that Chief Shining Turtle had the nerve to return to the area, especially after having been escorted back to his village by Chief Gray Feather’s warriors.

It was for certain that the Sioux chief did not fear the wrath of the Chippewa, knowing that, if needed, he could draw the many local bands of Sioux into the fight.

Colonel Russell rose from his chair. He walked from behind his desk and offered White Fire a hand. “I’m glad you came,” he said, his voice tightly drawn.

“I need you to interpret for me. The Sioux chief came into my office, unannounced. It is obvious he has come for council.”

White Fire shook the colonel’s hand, then sent a dark frown Shining Turtle’s way. “Then you do not know why he is here?” he said, glancing over at the colonel. “It is for certain that you cannot trust this Sioux chief. For three years I was held captive by him. It is ironic that it would be I who would be interpreting for him.”

“Will you do it for me?” the colonel asked, placing a trembling hand on White Fire’s shoulder. “Can we cast aside our own personal feelings long enough to . . . to get this son of a bitch out of my office?”

White Fire looked sharply at the colonel. “It would be easy for me to walk away and leave you with the problem at hand,” he said. “But it would serve no true purpose. Yes. I shall interpret for you.”

The colonel started dragging chairs close to his desk. “Tell them to come and sit by my desk, and we shall have council,” he said, giving the Sioux chief an uneasy glance over his shoulder.

“They will not sit in chairs,” White Fire said, shoving the chairs aside as quickly as the colonel slid them in place. “The floor will suffice.”