Savage Tempest

She had lived among the Pawnee long enough to know what a peaceful, loving people they were. They wanted nothing more from life than to live in peace, and to raise their children.

“Is it possible the white chief in Washington has decided to go against his treaties with us?” High Hawk demanded, doubling a fist.

His people had been promised they would not be bothered as long as they walked the road of peace. His father had walked that road, just as High Hawk planned to walk it.

But now?

What was High Hawk to think?

What was he to do?

“I must see for myself,” he said, reaching a hand to his rifle, which was sheathed in a gunboot at the right side of his horse. “If it is true, we have no choice but to kill those who plot with Mole.”

He glanced at Joylynn. “Under these circumstances, my woman, I want you to return to the village,” he said firmly. “I will send you there with an escort. I do not want anything to happen to you.”

“Please don’t ask that of me,” Joylynn said, pleading with her eyes as she gazed into his. “You need all the help you can get if the soldiers are plotting against you. And if they are sitting with Mole and his outlaws, eating with them as though they are kindred souls, then you know they have nothing good on their minds. I want to help you stop what has just begun around that campfire. Anyone who would side with Mole has to be as bad as he.”

“I hope you understand why I must take care of this now before any of my people are harmed,” High Hawk said thickly. “If the soldiers are there plotting with Mole when we arrive at the campsite, they must be among the casualties.”

“I understand,” Joylynn said, her voice tight. “And I will be at your side to help you. You need as many people fighting with you as possible. I am a crack shot. My father taught me well.”

“But you will be firing upon people of your own skin color,” High Hawk said.

“They might be of my color, but inside their hearts, they are not the same as I,” Joylynn said, placing a gentle hand on his face. “I love you. I love your people. I must do what I can to help.”

High Hawk took her hand and kissed its palm, smiled, then released it.

He turned and gazed over his shoulder at his warriors, whose eyes were lit with the fire of eagerness for what lay ahead of them. “My woman stays with us,” he said, his eyes moving from man to man to see how each felt. “She will be among us as we attack.”

He saw a look of astonishment in some of the men’s eyes, and looks of pride in others’. He thanked destiny, which had brought him a woman of such courage, who would risk her life for him, and for his people.

His gaze met Joylynn’s again. “Come, we have business to attend to,” he said, then looked over at Three Bears. “You ride on one side, while my woman rides on the other, until we get close enough to stop and leave our horses behind. You know when that should be, since you have seen the camp. Tell me when we should halt our steeds.”

Three Bears nodded and smiled, then sank his heels into the flanks of his horse as High Hawk and Joylynn rode away with him, the other warriors riding behind them.

The farther they rode, the more frightened Joylynn became. She was going to be part of an attack, and not only that, she would be fighting against people of her own skin color! Once it was over, would she regret her actions?

Or would she be proud to have helped such a fine people as the Pawnee?

She knew the answer to that without thinking about it. She would be proud to help High Hawk and his people.

They rode onward for a while longer, until the smell of smoke from the campfire became stronger.

Then Three Bears raised a fist into the air, turned to High Hawk and nodded. They all brought their horses to a stop.

Joylynn could not help it; her knees were strangely rubbery as she dismounted and grabbed her rifle from the gunboot at Swiftie’s side. It was her own rifle, which High Hawk had given back to her after declaring her no longer a captive.

All of the horses were picketed amid thick grass and left to feast upon it while the Pawnee warriors, with High Hawk in the lead and Joylynn at his right side, moved stealthily and quietly onward, some with bows and arrows at the ready, others with loaded rifles.

Joylynn’s heart raced as they grew close enough to the camp that she could hear the loud laughter of the men. They must be telling jokes around the campfire, or even laughing at the fate of the red men, women and children whom they planned to ambush.

She had no doubt that was the plan, which made it easier for her to do what she knew she must at High Hawk’s side.

She looked heavenward and whispered a prayer, then stopped when High Hawk reached out and grabbed her arm.

“We must hurry into the trees and let their dark shadows hide us from the white men,” he said to Joylynn, only loud enough for her to hear.

He did not have to speak commands aloud to his men. They were practiced at this sort of ambush. They knew they could not give the white eyes the chance to flee. If any white eyes escaped, they would carry the word of this attack back to the one in charge of the pony soldiers.