Page 8

It was the next day before they reached the outskirts of the post.

Each one of the three Pikuni men left their horses hobbled in a heavily forested glen on the west side of the prairie. It was in this meadow where grass and sweet pea vines grew in abundance. Also, a stream, though tiny, ran through the place.

They then prepared for a fight since they were unsure whether or not they would be discovered.

Since clothes tended to be cumbersome during battle, they divested themselves of their clothing except for their breechcloths and moccasins, though they kept hold of their weapons.

They cached their clothing in the glen, also, because their garments would be needed later.

They waited until the darkest part of the early morning hours when the two stars in the cup of the Seven Brothers was pointing down toward the eastern side of the fort.

Each man carried his bow and quiver full of arrows crisscrossed over his back, and a rifle was strung by its buckskin strap around an arm and carried also upon the back.

Knives were neatly tucked into their sheaths and attached to each man's belt, which was tied around his waist—the belt being the same one holding the breechcloth in place.

Their agreed-upon strategy was simple, as well as direct. Prepare for battle and a fight if necessary, but it was their mutual intention to enter Henrik and his daughter's quarters in the manner of the Indian scout: to do it under the nose of the gold-seekers and without detection.

At last, it was time to go, and, coming down onto all fours, they belly crawled across the prairie from the west side of the fort to the east. They arrived at their destination without incident, and, because they could see no guards pacing along the parapets, they were able to take a leaping run at the fort's eastern wall, scaling up the adobe bulwark until they had each one climbed up and over the wall.

Then they waited. They had made noise in vaulting over the wall of the fort. Had one of the fort's engagées or a guard heard them?

But, nothing moved below them and there seemed to be no sound within the fort.

Determining they could continue, they belly-crawled as soundlessly as possible up and over the apex of the roof, reaching the bottom end of it which allowed them to drop down upon a walkway along the upper story of the house.

They took turns swinging down from the roof's edge to land as quietly as possible onto the walkway, which extended from one end of the house to the other.

No one was about.

Because Stands Strong was aware of where Henrik and the girl's quarters were positioned, they moved toward those rooms with their backs against the wall which was in shadow.

Again, they encountered no guard nor any other person.

However, upon reaching the door to Henrik and Otahki's quarters, they found it locked.

Knocking on it, regardless of how softly done, was not an option. It was then when First Rider noticed the single window looking into the room was unlocked. The window was small, but it opened outwardly, and, when First Rider touched it, it easily fell open without him having to negotiate a lock.

Silently, they each one took turns climbing into the room, First Rider pausing to refasten the window as soon as each of his companions had hoisted themselves up and into the space. He quickly saw this one room led to another, and he assumed both of the chambers were lodgings for sleeping.

But, whose room was this one where they now stood? They all three paused, as though awaiting whomever was sleeping in this place to awaken.

First Rider cautiously crawled across the floor to the bed, his two friends, Stands Strong and Red Fox, following.

He soon discovered it was none other than Henrik, who was sound asleep within the bed. Placing his hand over the man's mouth, First Rider tapped the man on the shoulder. Henrik immediately jerked awake, but made no sound.

In English, First Rider whispered, "We come. Where…Otahki?"

As soon as First Rider removed his hand from over Henrik's mouth, the man whispered, "She be in the other room."

"Go…awaken.Bring…here."

Henrik nodded as he sat up, then he came to stand to his feet, his nightshirt long and touching the floor. He said, "Wait here."

First Rider acknowledged Henrik with a single slight dip of his head.

Then, Stands Strong came up to his feet and, slumped over at the waist, crept to the door of the room, there to stand guard; Red Fox took up his position at the window and gazed out of it from its left side and behind its curtain.

It was shortly after this when First Rider, sitting now on Henrik's bed, heard the adjoining door slowly open, followed by the shuffle of feet, and, looking up, he beheld the young girl—his friend—pacing into this area behind her father.

Even though there was only the light from a slowly dying fire to illuminate her figure, he was quick to see that she had blossomed into a curvy, young woman.

Her long, pale hair—which he remembered well—hung over her shoulders almost to her waist, its movement hiding her face.

And, although she wore a long, white nightgown, her feminine assets were clearly outlined beneath her gown.

Indeed, he couldn't withdraw his gaze from her, improper though it might be.

Had she always radiated so much femininity?

As he watched her, his heartbeat suddenly picked up speed and he felt his life's blood rush to the center of his body where it was fast creating its own undeniable response to her.

He knew he should look away from her, but he couldn't seem to do so, and his gaze followed the sway of her gown as it swung back and forth with her every step.

Although her face was still hidden from him, it didn't matter.

He was well aware of the beauty of her countenance.

And, as she stepped closer and closer to him, he gulped, trying to swallow down the lump in his throat, as well as to suppress what was happening to him in the center of his body. For a moment, he couldn't speak.

And, though he supposed his honest, male reaction to her maidenly image was due to him having been without a woman these last few winters, it didn't take away her allure. She was slim and lovely, her once-girlish air replaced with subtle womanliness.

Twice, he tried to speak, if only to utter a welcome to her. But, when the words failed him, he reverted to sign language as he motioned to her, saying, "Greetings. I am happy to see you again."

She didn't answer at once. Instead, she was looking down as she gestured back to him, signing, "Thank you. I am happy to see you again, also."

Struggling to hide his unwelcome, masculine reaction to her, he tried to assume the posture of what he was—a medicine man who had been summoned here to help heal this woman, the girl he considered to be an almost-sister.

At last, regaining his composure, he felt confident he could suppress his body's inclination toward her, and he came up to his feet, towering over her as he said, again in sign language, "Please, will you not sit down on your father's bed? "

She nodded and, pacing a little forward, came to sit on the edge of the bed. As she passed close by him, First Rider caught a whiff of her enticing, feminine fragrance, and his heart suddenly beat fast within his chest. He tried to swallow, but, again, there was a lump in his throat.

She didn't look up at him or return his gaze, and for this, he was glad. Instead, she looked down, her hair still covering her face. But, he could see a shadow of her lower lip and noted its trembling.

Wondering what had happened to her, he suppressed his male reaction to her and bent down on one knee before her. Leaning forward, he reached up to brush her hair away from her face, noting her hair smelled of fragrant herbs and was silky to the touch. It felt good against his fingers.

He sighed. He hadn't expected to react to her in this completely male way, and, in truth, he was unprepared for it.

Bringing his attention back to the matter at hand, he wondered what exactly had happened to her. The note from her father hadn't mentioned it clearly.

Pulling her hair back, he was bringing her mane into a position where he could see her face, when his right hand encountered something sharp. Carefully, he placed her hair out of the way, behind her ear.

He looked down at what had poked him; it was a sharp stick and part of it was lodged in her eye. How had this happened? Had she fallen?

But, then he answered his own question when he pushed back her hair from the other side of her face.

Shocked, he couldn't speak, but his surprise was soon replaced by the flames of rage.

Indeed, no good man could have looked at the damage done to her face and not have felt the same as he… and more.

Someone…some man had beaten up this girl, this beautiful, young woman. Not only was there a large circle of red and black around her other stick-free eye, there were other bruises upon both her cheeks and chin, and even her nose looked as though it had only recently healed from a rush of blood.

An uproar exploded within him. Here sat this lovely, young woman with large and angry bruises upon her face. Worse, if he were not good enough or clever enough, taking the object out of her eye might cause her eye to come out, too.

Controlling his fury as best he could, he asked in sign, "Who did this to you? How did this happen?"

She didn't answer, and it was left to First Rider to look up at her father and ask him the same question.

"Her husband, I am afeard, punched me own daughter in the face, then he threw her to the floor," answered Henrik.

Husband? A husband had done this?