Page 13 of A Redemption Mountain Christmas (Redemption Mountain #27)
Then Spencer looked again at the men on horseback before him, jolting at a new revelation. They weren’t Crow. If he wasn’t mistaken, they were from the Blackfoot village past the far northern border of the Pelletier property.
Spencer remained motionless, one hand on his six-shooter as he tracked the progress of the braves edging their horses toward him.
They were still some distance off when one of the Blackfoot warriors drew back his bow and let an arrow fly.
It whizzed past Spencer, the same as the previous arrow.
His gaze never left the approaching warriors.
Though his heart was pounding, his face remained impassive.
He would not give these men the satisfaction of seeing any trace of fear.
As the Blackfoot drew nearer, the front door of the ranch house swung open and Bull Mason emerged, boots thudding heavily on the wooden steps. He strode forward to meet the old man seated atop a beautifully marked pinto horse at the head of the party.
“Welcome, Running Bear.” Bull held up a hand in greeting.
The older man inclined his head in acknowledgement. “It is good to see you, Bull Mason.”
“Welcome, Running Bear,” said Dax, coming to stand beside Bull. Luke joined them as well, nodding politely to the Blackfoot chief.
Billy came down the porched steps and moved to Bull’s side. Running Bear’s eyes crinkled as he looked at the young man who was his daughter’s husband, and said something in Blackfoot, making Billy dip his head, a faint smile touching his lips.
Next to Running Bear was a younger warrior with a hard, brooding look on his face.
His lips were pressed in a firm line, and his dark eyes stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge the ranch men gathered before him.
Swift Bear, eldest son of Running Bear and older brother to Shining Star, showed his discomfort in every way possible.
Ignoring his son, Running Bear spoke again in halting English, his voice low and gravelly from age. “My people are hungry.”
Bull nodded solemnly. “We understand. The winter has been hard for everyone.”
“Another village joins ours. Too many mouths to feed now.”
Running Bear’s words highlighted the immense struggle his people were facing.
With the joining of another village, the already scarce food supplies had been stretched to the limit.
Hunger gnawed at the bellies of elders and children alike.
Even the strongest hunters were having trouble finding enough game to feed so many mouths.
The proud Blackfoot did not beg or plead, but their need was evident in the hollowness of their cheeks and the weary stoop of their shoulders.
Dax and Luke exchanged a glance. It was clear the Blackfoot were in dire need.
“We’ll help however we can,” said Dax. “You may take more cattle.” The Pelletiers had made a deal with Running Bear years earlier, allowing them to take up to three head of cattle each winter to feed their people.
Luke nodded. “We have stores of cornmeal and flour. You can take them back with you.”
“Please take the cornmeal and flour,” Dax urged Running Bear. “We have many canned and dried fruits, and vegetables to help see your people through the winter.”
Running Bear considered for a moment, then gave a sharp shake of his head. “We will take cornmeal and flour.” He would not accept more charity than necessity demanded.
In the end, the old chief agreed only to take several sacks of cornmeal and flour when they departed. It was not much, but it would make the difference between hunger and hope for his tribe. The depth of his gratitude shone in his dark, wise eyes.
Shining Star stood on the front porch of the ranch house, one arm wrapped protectively around her young son, Spirit Bear. Though she’d been driven from her village after being accosted by a raiding Crow warrior and becoming pregnant, her heart ached for the struggles of the Blackfoot.
As Running Bear spoke with Dax and Luke, he glanced up and met his granddaughter’s gaze, and into the eyes of the little boy clinging to her skirts.
He nodded slowly to the child, Spirit Bear, acknowledging the lifeblood flowing in the boy’s veins.
Shining Star drew her son closer, warmed by her grandfather’s unspoken acceptance.
When the negotiations for food were complete, Dax turned to Running Bear with a broad smile.
“Please come inside where it’s warm,” he invited, with a sweep of his arm toward the front door. After their long ride, Dax knew the Blackfoot men would appreciate getting out of the biting cold.
Running Bear considered the offer, then inclined his head in agreement.
He said something in his native tongue to the warriors who still sat astride their horses in the yard.
Only Swift Bear would join the chief. The rest would stand guard outside, preferring the chill air to the stifling confinement of walls and a roof.
Running Bear and Swift Bear dismounted from their horses while the other Blackfoot warriors remained seated atop their steeds.
Dax respected their decision, and led them up the steps, where Shining Star waited to usher them inside, Spirit Bear still clinging to his mother’s skirt.
Running Bear murmured something to his young grandson, noting the boy’s heavy coat, jeans, and small boots.
White man’s clothing. He couldn’t object, as it had been him who left his daughter behind at the Pelletier ranch.
Spirit Bear looked up at the elderly man, eyes wide.
“Spirit Bear, this is your grandfather, Running Bear,” Shining Star said, introducing the two for the first time after her father and brother had ridden away after her son’s birth.
Her son blinked several times as he looked at the formidable Blackfoot chief before him. “Grandfather?”
Running Bear offered a solemn nod, setting a hand on his grandson’s slim shoulder.
Spencer crossed the open distance to join everyone on the front porch. He looked toward the house. Eliza watched the happenings from the window, marveling at the scene unfolding before her. She’d read about the native people of America, but never imagined seeing them up close.
A few minutes earlier, Eliza thought they’d been poised on the brink of violence.
Now, they stood united. It was a poignant sight, one giving her hope for a future where such alliances were the norm, not the exception.
The image would stay etched in her mind long after the Blackfoot party had departed.
The group moved inside the ranch house and into the study. It was a welcoming sight with its leather chairs, two leather sofas, and mahogany desk, all exuding understated wealth. Moonlight streamed through the windows, glinting off the glass doors of the sideboard.
Dax settled behind the desk while Luke and Bull took the chairs opposite. Running Bear remained standing, as did Swift Bear.
“Please make yourselves comfortable,” Dax offered. But the Blackfoot chief shook his head slightly, preferring to remain on his feet.
The men’s conversation turned to recent events, including the Crow raiding parties plaguing the area, driving off cattle, and leaving burned out homesteads in their wake.
“They’re getting bolder with every attack,” Luke said grimly. “We’ve doubled the night patrols, but these mountains have more hidey holes than a rabbit warren.”
Dax nodded. “They seem to be moving between Big Pine and Splendor. If we don’t stop them soon, more people will lose everything.”
Running Bear listened intently, his expression grave. This land was in his blood, yet he knew the Crow had as much right to it as his people. Still, wanton destruction served no good purpose.
Shining Star entered with a tray laden with cups filled with steaming coffee. Rachel followed close behind, bearing a plate of cornbread and jars of peach preserves.
The women moved quietly around the room, handing out coffee and offering the food they’d prepared. Though worlds apart in upbringing, they shared a common bond of providing sustenance and hospitality to weary travelers.
Running Bear gave an approving nod as his daughter pressed a cup into his weathered hands. Her heritage dictated she serve elders first.
As Shining Star moved to leave the study, she hesitated, glancing back at her father and brother. Though they acknowledged her with a slight nod, their attention remained fixed on the men’s discussion.
She bit her lip, yearning for a kind word or smile. Since they’d arrived at the ranch an hour earlier, she’d felt adrift. It was as if she straddled two worlds, one of the Blackfoot and another of the white man.
Only her father’s stern visage held her back from rushing into his arms like a child. At twenty-one winters, she must behave as a woman grown, despite inner turmoil.
With a resigned sigh, Shining Star slipped from the room. She would find solace in the ones who never failed to greet her with joy. Billy Zales and their son, Spirit Bear, always made her feel she had a place in the world, and it was with them.
As another hour ticked by, Running Bear and his men made their way to the barn behind the main house. Bull and Spencer stoked the forge, its embers casting a dim, reddish glow across their stern faces while providing warmth and comfort.
The Blackfoot wrapped themselves in blankets near the forge’s growing warmth. Come dawn, they would be gone, vanishing like phantoms into the mist, with sacks of cornmeal and flour secured on their horses. Running Bear would find suitable payment for the hospitality shown them this night.
The bonds forged here would not be easily broken. As in the past, an alliance had been solidified between unlikely allies against a common foe. For now, cultural divides had been bridged.
Bull Mason awoke before dawn, a lingering unease gnawing at his gut. Though the meeting with Running Bear had gone smoothly, something felt off. Perhaps it was apprehension at having the fearsome Blackfoot warriors camped so close.
Rising quietly so as not to disturb Lydia, Bull slipped outside into the dim pre-dawn light. A thin mist clung close to the ground as he made his way toward the barn.
He was surprised to find the barn empty, the blankets neatly folded where the men had slept. Running Bear and his party had already departed before first light.
Bull shook his head. He should have expected as much from the elusive tribe. Their early departure still left him unsettled, as if unfinished business lingered in the air.
Turning back toward the house, Bull paused as a flash of color caught his eye. Crouching, he retrieved a solitary eagle feather from where it lay on the ground by the forge.
Running Bear had left it intentionally. Whether it was a gift or a parting message, Bull didn’t know. Gripping the feather tightly, he headed back inside, mind churning with questions.