White Fire

When she saw the wigwams a short distance away through a break in the trees, Flames’s heart soared. Her plan to set White Fire free would work! Surely all she had to do was ask the old chief and he would find a way to spring White Fire from his imprisonment. Had he not rescued White Fire and his daughter from the Sioux?

Keeping that thought, taking hope from it, Flame rode in a hard gallop into the outer perimeters of the Chippewa village.

Then she saw the bitter, sour glares as she drew the roan to a shimmying halt. She wondered why she would draw such antagonistic stares from those who had recently been friendly toward her.

Then she noticed how quiet the village was. It was as though someone had died.

Oh, Lord, she hoped that someone wasn’t Chief Gray Feather! As far as she knew, he was the only member of the St. Croix band of the Chippewa who cared deeply enough for White Fire to help him in his critical time of need!

Chapter 31

How should I your true love know

From another one?

—William Shakespeare

Trying to ignore the cold stares, struggling with everything within her to keep her fears at bay, Flame rode onward through the village, then drew a tight rein before Chief Gray Feather’s large wigwam.

Just as she slid out of the saddle, she found herself surrounded by several Chippewa warriors, their faces dark and unfriendly. Her eyes moving in jerks from one to the other, she slowly backed away from them.

Then she turned, and without asking permission, darted inside the chiefs dwelling.

Once inside, she stopped and looked slowly around her. No one was there. Cold ashes lay in the fire pit.

There was a strange, muted silence, not only inside the lodge, but outside where everyone had seemed to have stopped all of their normal activity.

Realizing now that something must have happened at the Chippewa village, and feeling as though she had stepped into a lion’s den, Flame was torn with what to do.

It seemed that much of the Chippewas’ anger was focused on her. But why? she wondered, trying to think of what she might have done to cause such anger. When she had last been here, it had been on friendly terms with their chief after she forgave him for taking her hostage. Something had to have happened since then to bring on such hatred and resentment.

She stepped farther into the wigwam. Then she turned with a start when she heard someone behind her.

Eyes wide, her heart thumping, she stared up at Red Buffalo, whose midnight black eyes were narrowed, whose jaw was tight.

“You are not welcome here,” Red Buffalo said angrily. He gestured. “You do not belong in the chief’s lodge. Mah-szhon, go. Do not come to our village again, ever.”

Stubbornly deciding that she would not leave until she had answers, Flame stood her ground. “Why are you being so unfriendly toward me?” she asked softly.

She looked slowly around the wigwam again, then gazed into the tall Indian’s eyes. “And where is Chief Gray Feather?” she murmured. She swallowed hard. “Has something happened to him?”

“Not to our chief, but to my cousin, our chief’s daughter,” Red Buffalo said solemnly.

A warning rushed through Flame, especially at how the mention of Song Sparrow had seemed to make more anger leap into Red Buffalo’s eyes.

“What about Song Sparrow?” she found the courage to ask, but speaking only faintly.

“She is gone from us,” Red Buffalo said, angrily folding his arms across his chest. “So many of our people see you as partially the cause of her death.”

Flame paled. She took an unsteady step away from him. “She is dead? And you see me as the cause?” she asked, placing a hand to her throat. “Why would anyone blame me for Song Sparrow’s death?”

“She died because of having lost White Fire’s love,” Red Buffalo said sullenly.

“Do you mean to say that she . . . she killed herself?” Flame said, feeling more threatened by each new discovery.

“Ay-uh, that is how she died,” Red Buffalo said.

He took a slow step toward her.