Savage Tempest

br /> It was apparent that the others in the band did not agree with Blanket Woman, for Joylynn had proven to them that she was a woman of heart, someone vastly different from any white people they had ever known before her.

Suddenly several bald-headed eagles swept down from the heavens. They flew above High Hawk and his people for a while, then soared away again, soon lost to view behind a fluffy white cloud.

“I feel my brother among them,” High Hawk suddenly said, causing Joylynn to ease from his arms and look into his eyes.

“You felt him among the eagles?” Joylynn asked, searching High Hawk’s eyes.

“When eagles come together like that in such a great number, they bring a message from Tirawahut,” High Hawk said, searching the sky. He wanted to see the eagles again, but there was no trace of them.

“And that message is?” Joylynn murmured.

“A message of love and reassurance,” High Hawk said thickly. “My brother’s love.”

Joylynn was astonished at how High Hawk received such comfort in the mere appearance of eagles. She hoped that in time she could believe as he did, for she saw such peace in his eyes.

She gazed down at his mother. The older woman still wept as she clung to the blankets upon which her eldest son had lain.

Joylynn wanted to go to the elderly woman and pull her into her embrace, but she knew better. Blanket Woman blamed Joylynn for all the recent misfortunes that had befallen the tribe.

Joylynn wondered how she could ever change Blanket Woman’s mind now. She truly doubted that it was possible.

And if not, would Blanket Woman make Joylynn’s marriage to High Hawk miserable?

She set her jaw, knowing that she would not allow anyone to stand in the way of her happiness with High Hawk. She had waited a lifetime for a man such as he, and she would never give him up. Never.

A chill coursed through her veins when she found Blanket Woman gazing at her with utter contempt.

She knew now that Blanket Woman would not stop at anything to keep her only remaining son free of this white woman she despised with every fiber of her being!

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Having no choice but to resume their journey without Sleeping Wolf, the Pawnee continued on the frighteningly steep path up the mountainside.

Joylynn turned to prayer to find the courage to keep climbing, and to cope with her deep sadness over Sleeping Wolf’s death.

Feeling that another tragedy could happen at any moment, especially since the soldiers might be closer than anyone thought, Joylynn had hung the binoculars around her neck in order to take an occasional look far below. She dreaded seeing any movement by men who might be searching for High Hawk and his people.

As Swiftie climbed slowly up the mountain pass, Joylynn clung to the reins with one hand and looked through the binoculars with the other. She slowly scanned the land far below her, able to make out objects despite the distance.

Her heart seemed to leap into her throat when she spotted something. She could hardly believe her eyes when she saw soldiers advancing on the mountain; they had almost reached the foot of it.

Even more astonishing was who she saw riding with the soldiers. The cigarillo glow first drew her attention, and then she looked intently at the one who smoked it. It was none other than the man she’d thought had died during the ambush on the outlaws and soldiers.

It . . . was . . . Mole!

“Mole,” she whispered, growing cold at the sight.

But he had been among the casualties on the day of the attack.

“How could it be?” she whispered, trying to see the man more closely as he continued to ride with the cavalry. His size, his bearing, his mannerisms made her certain that it was he.

But how on earth could it be Mole? They had left him for dead! Blood had almost totally covered him as he lay lifeless on the ground among his outlaw friends.

No doubt most of the blood on him had come from men who had died beside him. His own wounds, if any, could not have been fatal.

Lowering the binoculars from her eyes, she looked ahead at High Hawk, who rode in front of her along the narrow path; they had thought it best to ride in single file. She hated having to tell him that not only had she seen soldiers advancing on the mountain, but the cold-blooded murderer of High Hawk’s father had once again cheated death!

“High Hawk,” Joylynn called, drawing his attention quickly to her. He looked over his shoulder. “I hate to tell you this, but . . . but . . . a number of cavalrymen are advancing quickly on the mountain, and not only that, but . . . Mole . . . is with them.”