When Passion Calls

No. When Shane came, it would be in peace. It would be in full humility. Gray Falcon would be the victor!

Melanie sighed. "I see that you are not going to answer me," she said sullenly. "So I will let you know that I have already come to my own conclusions. You're Chief Gray Falcon, aren't you? You've done this because Shane stole horses and pelts from you. But I can't fathom what your plans are for me. Shane would surely kill you should you harm me."

When Gray Falcon's eyes narrowed and grew dark with some hidden, secret emotion, Melanie winced. Chills coursed through her. His gaze was so cutting! "That's why you abducted me, isn't it?" she gasped. "To draw Shane to your village so that you can kill him?"

Again Melanie tried to escape his iron grip. She squirmed and wrestled, but lack of sleep, made her too weak to continue the struggle. She breathed hard and slumped over the arm that held onto her around her waist.

"I'm too tired," she moaned. "I'm so . . . sleepy. . . ."

The struggling had drained the last bit of strength from her. No matter how hard she tried, she could not keep her eyes open any longer. The drone of the horse's hooves making a steady sound on the ground lulled her to escape her discomfort and fears by finally drifting into the welcoming black void of sleep. . . .

Chapter Twenty-four

A great clap of thunder awakened Melanie with a start. She jerked her head up and recoiled when she was abruptly reminded of her circumstances. Her heart pounding, she looked around her. She was in an Indian wigwam, and she was alone.

Her gaze lowered as she reached her hands out before her. She was not bound or gagged. Could she possibly escape? The dwelling in which she was imprisoned was dark except for the soft, dancing glow of a fire in a firespace.

"It must be night," she murmured. "I slept all day!"

Her knees weak with fear, Melanie rose to her feet and moved quietly to the closed entrance flap. She reached her trembling fingers to the flap and slowly lifted it, then froze with fear when she

discovered a hefty brave standing with his back to the wigwam, guarding it.

She looked past the brave. Tiny fires were scattered everywhere in the Indian village, throwing weird shadows among the domed bark houses. The odor of meat cooking from somewhere close by came to Melanie with a change in the wind, causing her stomach to growl painfully.

She looked around, assessing her chances of eventual escape. Men and women milled about outside their houses, dogs barked, and children played. A pang of loneliness for Shane stung Melanie's heart. He probably knew all of these people. He had once been a child who played among them. He had grown up knowing them all and sharing their customs.

Knowing these things, Melanie could not find it in her heart to hate these people in whose village she was being held captive. There was only one Indian to blameChief Gray Falcon!

"But where is he?" she whispered. "Why has he left me alone?"

Drunken laughter drew Melanie's attention to a group of men sitting around a larger outdoor fire. She peered intensely at them, stiffening when she recognized that a white man sat among them. It was surely a trapper. Great piles of furs were spread out on the ground, being admired by several Indians.

A bitter hate grabbed at her insides as she sorted out Chief Gray Falcon from among the men. Then she was again seized with fear, for the chief was

tipping a large jug to his lips. He was drinking whiskey!

''Oh, Lord, what if he gets drunk?" Melanie whispered, placing a hand to he

r throat. "What will he do with me then?"

She looked up. The sky was pitch black, brightening erratically with great bursts of lightning. Another vicious streak of lightning in the heavens and an ensuing burst of thunder, shaking the matted floor beneath Melanie's feet, made her drop the entrance flap as though she had been shot.

Dispirited, she went to the fire and settled down on a bear pelt before it, her gaze moved slowly around the wigwam. The roof was sloped both ways from the peak where a smoke hole gaped open, and there were posts set into the ground to hold the roof solid. Cords of skins were strung between these posts and were weighed down by all manner of skins and weapons and baskets of woven grass. Along the walls were piles of skins.

An empty kettle was suspended over the fire from a tripod; a high rack stood near the door with uncooked meat draped over it.

Cedar boughs were spread on the ground and covered with rush mats, and great bear pelts hung on a far wall, under which lay more pelts rolled up, perhaps used as bedding. Many highly-colored parfleche bags, in which she thought the chief's personal possessions must be stored, lay about the outer walls of the dwelling, and impressive bows and pouches of arrows lay close to the fire, not far from where Melanie sat.

Her gaze stopped at the weapons.

Should she . . . ?

But that thought was quickly cast aside, for suddenly she was no longer alone. She turned her head with a jerk and watched Chief Gray Falcon enter the dwelling, teetering. Melanie's jaws tightened, recognizing the signs of drunkenness. She had witnessed it often enough in her brother!

Afraid, she began scooting backward as Gray Falcon went and stood over the fire. His dark eyes branded Melanie as he stared down at her, then his gaze was drawn elsewhere when a beautiful young squaw came into the wigwam, carrying water in a wooden basin.

Melanie surmised that this was Blue Blossom, of whom Shane had made mention while relaying his story to her about stealing the pelts from Gray Falcon's wigwam.