Page 13 of Wild Sweet Wilderness (Missouri #1)

Berry woke from a sound sleep.

“Is the blackberries ready for pickin’?”

Biedy was trying to speak softly, but her voice rang like a bell in the close confines of the room.

“Did ya put the cream in the spring for coolin’ till I can get to the churnin’? And ’bout my hens—did ya pen ’em and caution the boys to be on the lookout for weasels?”

It was Silas’s voice, patient and gruff, that answered her.

“I done it all, Biedy, jist like ye knowed I would. Now, get on with the vittles so’s we can be gone.”

Berry blinked and looked away from the light the glowing candle made in the dark room. Excitement zigzagged through her like lightning as memory returned and each and every moment, every detail of the hours she had spent with Simon, came clearly to mind. He wanted to marry her! Spend his life with her! She could hardly wait to see him again.

She reached for her dress and slipped it over her head while she was still beneath the sheet, fastened the front buttons, then swung her feet to the floor. Silas was bending over the cookfire and Biedy was smiling and nodding to her. Berry stood and smoothed her dress down over her night rail.

“Mornin’.”

“Mornin’. It’s a mite early, but Silas is strainin’ to be goin’. He’s the beatin’est man! If’n it’s startin’ or stoppin’, he’s bound to get it done right away. I’ll declare, Silas, I got to have me more fire’n that if’n ya want meat ’n’ gravy for breakfast.”

“Hold your taters, hon’. It’s a-comin’.”

Berry went to the wash dish, scooped water into her hands, and splashed her face. After drying it on the soft, clean towel that hung on a nail beside the washstand, she tidied her hair and pinned the braid to the top of her head.

“Mornin’, Miz MacCartney.”

Silas spoke from beside the fireplace.

“Mornin’.”

Rachel paused in the doorway and then hurried to help with breakfast.

“My, my! How misput of me to let guests cook their own vittles! You made no noise at all or I’d-a been up.”

“I heard Faith a-frettin’ in the night. Is she all right?”

Biedy lifted the big spider skillet onto the grate.

“She’s a glutton, is what she is. She was hungry,”

Rachel replied with a laugh.

“Morning, Berry.”

There was no way Rachel could contain her happiness. It shone in her eyes, tilted her lips, and quickened her steps. She had a wonderfully considerate husband who had held her tenderly in his arms all night long and whispered that when the time came that she was well and strong, he’d not allow her a wink of sleep. She felt loved and wanted for the first time in her life. She had a home and a man to take care of her, and at last she was able to do something for Berry. These thoughts and many more danced about in her mind while she set the table for the first time in what was truly her home.

Rachel took her place at the end of the table opposite Fain when they sat down to breakfast. Silas and Biedy sat on one side, Berry and Isaac on the other. Biedy ceased her chatter long enough for Silas to say grace. Isaac nodded silently when Fain inquired if he had tied onto their mounts the sack of shot and the small keg of gunpowder he had set out for them to take, along with the candle mold and beeswax for Biedy.

“I just feel plumb bad ’bout takin’ that mold. Course, I don’t feel bad enough to give it back,”

Biedy said with her musical titter.

“My, my! Just imagine! I’ll be havin’ my own mold. I got me plenty of milkweed floss I’ve been a-savin’ for wicks. But mercy, Rachel, it was plumb kind of ya . . .”

Fain interrupted.

“You just go ahead and enjoy the mold. Rachel’ll have another one soon’s I can send down to Simon’s storehouse.”

He smiled into his bride’s blue eyes and slightly flushed face.

“When you come again, she’ll more’n likely have curtains on the winders ’n’ a cloth on the table ’n’ you’ll not be findin’ a place to set for all the knickknacks. I’ll have to run Fish outta that shack so I’ll have me someplace to go to get out from underfoot,”

he teased.

“Fain . . .”

Rachel protested.

“I’ll not . . .”

“I can always go up to Simon’s if’n there gets to be so many knickknacks I can’t walk through my own cabin.”

“Fain . . .”

He laughed with delight at Rachel’s reddened face, covered her hand with his, and gripped it tightly.

“Don’t start off lettin’ him get your goat, Rachel. Silas tried a-doin’ that with me ’n’ I set him down good, didn’t I, Silas?”

Biedy didn’t wait for her husband to answer.

“What ya got to do is get a hold ’n’ take charge of things. This’n’s been carefree too long and it’ll take some doin’ to get him in line, but think on it and you’ll know what to do. Ya just be so tired nights for a good long while and sleep on the cot by yourself. In a while he’ll knuckle under!”

Her bright blue eyes flicked knowingly toward her husband.

Fain roared with laughter, and Rachel’s and Berry’s faces flamed. Biedy’s family didn’t seem to notice her outspoken words.

Berry sat quietly, scarcely hearing anything except the last part of the conversation, for she was quivering inwardly in anticipation of Simon’s coming into the room. Surely he had heard Isaac getting the horses out of the barn lot.

“Simon said to tell ya that he’d be seein’ ya on his next trip downriver. He had to get on down to Saint Louis and I think he’s goin’ on down to see Pike. He’s hell-bent on makin’ that trip up north. Hairbrained, if’n ya ask me, Pike a-goin’ up there. More’n likely he’ll have to winter there.”

Fain spoke between sips of hot black coffee.

Berry heard only the first part of what he said. Simon was gone! The information was like a blow to Berry’s stomach. All the energy was suddenly driven from her. A chill settled over her with the knowledge that she meant so little to him that he’d left the homestead without a word to her. All he’d said last night was for naught! He’d been playing with her! The thought was like a dagger twisting in her heart.

Berry came back to the present to hear Biedy protesting that she should help with the clean-up before they left and Rachel assuring her that she and Berry would make short work of it. Berry followed them out into the dogtrot, stumbling over the doorstone when she left the candlelit room. The stars were still blinking in the sky and a cool breeze fanned her hot face. Damn you, Simon Witcher!

Silas mounted the horse and Biedy sprang up behind him, as agile as a young girl.

“’Bye, Rachel. ’Bye, Berry. Y’all come, now. You’re welcome anytime. Come ’n’ bring that sweet little darlin’. Fain, I’m glad ya had the gumption to marry up with Rachel. Ya take care of them, now. Rachel, if’n Faith gets colic, ya just get some goldenrod ’n’ take the leaves and tops off ’n’boil ’em up good. Give her a few sips. And if’n there’s a time her bowels don’t move, you give ’er a little buckthorn bark. Boil it up the same way. Now . . . if’n she gets the runnin’-offs, ya can use meadow sweet root. And . . . My land! I forgot to tell ya about coltsfoot. . . .”

Silas broke in.

“’Bye, Fain. Biedy’s had a week to say all she wanted to. Don’t seem like she’s goin’ to run down, so we’d better get.”

Silas put the horse in motion.

“We’ll come a-runnin’ if’n we’re needed.”

He waved his hand.

“’Bye, Rachel. ’Bye, Berry.”

Biedy grabbed Silas around the waist and tossed a bright glance back over her shoulder.

“Ya make me so mad. Silas Cornick! Ya never let me finish. I was goin’ to tell her ’bout wormwood, henbane, ’n’ fennel seed. If’n that little love gets a fever ’n’ Rachel don’t know ’bout sage, you’re just goin’ to have to bring me back! It’d just serve ya right! ’Cause I wanted to tell her ’bout . . .”

Distance and darkness swallowed the Cornicks. Fain laughed and put his arm across Rachel’s shoulders.

“Did you ever know of a woman what talked so much?”

“I liked her. I liked her more than any woman I ever knew except Berry. I hope they come back soon.”

“But not too soon, darlin’. I’m wantin’ to have my family all to myself for a while.”

He put his other arm around Berry’s shoulder, and they moved back into the house.

Berry’s mind moved like wheels through mud. Simon was gone. She would erase last night from her mind as if it hadn’t happened. There was only one thing to do now: take Israel, the stock, and the wagons and leave here as soon as possible, or there wouldn’t be time to get set up on the homestead before winter. She hoped she’d never see Simon Witcher again! But she prayed that if she did, she would be already married to a big, handsome man who would punch him in the mouth if he even glanced her way!

* * *

A week passed and then two. Rachel would have seen supremely happy if not for worrying over the change in Berry. She seldom laughed, and when she did, it was the forced laughter that Rachel recognized from the times on the trail from Ohio when she was trying to keep Rachel’s spirits up. Berry worked from dawn until dark. If she wasn’t helping with the meals, she was tending to Faith, working in the garden, or doing any one of the countless things to be done on the homestead.

A fur trapper dropped off a bundle from Simon’s storehouse. Berry and Rachel went through the pack and exclaimed delightedly over the dress goods, hairpins, stockings, slippers, ribbons, and sweet-smelling soap. There was even a glass mirror in the bundle, and candy wrapped in oiled paper. It was the same rum-flavored sweet Simon had given Berry in Saint Louis. There were two of everything, but to Rachel’s disappointment Berry would have no part of it. Fain smiled at Rachel’s excitement and went back to work on his guns. Rachel carefully laid aside half of the finery, biding her time until Berry was in a more favorable frame of mind.

Early in the second week, Berry began to ride out on the sorrel mare that had been her pa’s. Soon it was her greatest pleasure and each day she rode farther and farther from the cabin. She studied the land, the river, and the map that marked the location of her land.

A plan began to form in her mind. She mulled it over for several days before she made up her mind what she would do. She would go see for herself if her land was swampy and unfit for farming. She knew Fain would never allow her to leave the homestead—if he knew she was going. She would have to be careful and appear to be settled. In order to do that, she took several items from her wagon and set them up in Fain’s house. She spent several evenings spinning wool they had carded before they’d left Ohio.

After giving her plan much thought, Berry decided to confide in Fish. Every minute the young man had to spare was spent dogging her tracks. She knew he liked her, liked her a lot, although she hadn’t given him any encouragement toward a personal relationship. He seemed satisfied with friendship and she was grateful and flattered—she had never had a male friend before.

One hot afternoon Fish came out to the garden where Berry was picking potato bugs off the plants. She moved out of the patch and into the shade and drank thirstily from the water jar he had brought to her. Fish hunkered down beside her. His fair hair was plastered to his head with sweat, and rivulets of it trickled down his smooth face. He looked at her adoringly with his wide amber eyes.

“This is the map the land man gave my pa,”

she said, drawing the folded paper from her apron pocket.

“I want to go there, but don’t tell Fain and Rachel.”

Her green eyes beseeched him.

Fish took a trembling breath.

“You know I won’t tell, Miss Berry, if you ask me not to. But why in the world do you want to go there? You can’t take up a land contract without a man to help you.”

His eyes searched her face; he had known the answer to his question before he asked it.

“Would you let me . . . ?”

“No, Fish,”

she said quickly.

“I just want to see what it’s like. I know I can’t improve on it enough to get clear title,”

she fibbed.

“I just want to see it. After all, I came all the way from Ohio and . . . it’s not fair that I don’t even get to see where my new home would have been if my . . . pa had lived.”

She put just the right amount of quiver in her voice and allowed her lower lip to tremble slightly.

“Ahhh . . . Miss Berry. You’ve got a home here. Fain wouldn’t hear of you not being here with Miz MacCartney. In the months I’ve been here I’ve not seen him so happy.”

“He’s been wonderful to me,”

Berry admitted.

“But . . . do you know the location of this section?”

She pointed to the marked spot on the map.

“It’s about twenty miles, I’d say.”

Fish studied the map.

“It wouldn’t be hard to find. It seems to me it’s the land beyond this creek or dry gulch—whichever it is.”

“Are we here?”

Berry pointed to a spot on the map with a small twig. When Fish nodded, she poked a small hole to mark the place.

“Then it would be best to go north and then west?”

“I’d say so. Go north until you run into a creek and follow it until it runs out. Then a few miles on west would be the place your pa filed on. It says the boundary is marked by ax marks on the trees.”

He sank down beside her and took her hand. His wasn’t much larger than her own.

“I don’t want you going off by yourself, Berry. I’ll go with you.”

“It’s sweet of you, Fish. I’ve not even decided for sure if I’m going. Fain will be angry and Rachel will worry. I’ll have to think about it for a while. You won’t tell anyone I’m thinking about it?”

“Of course I won’t.”

He squeezed her hand and got to his feet.

“Don’t stay out here in the sun too long,”

he cautioned, and Berry felt a surge of affection for him.

“I won’t,”

she promised, and watched his slight figure walk away, head bent, shoulders slumped dejectedly.

Twenty miles! Berry was elated.

She could make that distance in one day on the mare.

Plans crowded into her mind.

She would take a good look around, decide the best way to bring the wagons in, and return the next day.

She was sorry for the worry it would cause Rachel, but there was no help for it.

She would go alone.

Fish would be nothing but company for her, and she didn’t need that.

She would take the rifle or the musket—that would be all the protection she would need.

She toyed with the idea of taking Israel, thinking it would ease Rachel’s mind to know she wasn’t alone, but she dismissed the idea—Israel on a mule would just slow her down.

Berry didn’t allow herself to think about Simon and prided herself on not taking one taste of the treat he had sent.

Fain teased about the candy and talked on and on about Simon’s taking his trade goods down to Pike’s camp.

The devil take Simon! He was the one who had said that a woman should pay no attention to a man’s soft words, but should judge him by his actions.

He’d gone off without a word to her.

His actions told her what he thought of her.

She would not take a husband who thought no more of her feelings than that.

Mr.

Simon Witcher had better understand that right now!

* * *

The sky was still dark but showing faint signs of light in the east when Berry slipped out to the barnyard and saddled the mare.

She had a blanket and a two-day supply of food wrapped in a cloth.

A musket was tucked into the waistband of her skirt, and the powder and shot hung from a bag thrown over her shoulder.

With a pounding heart, expecting Fain or Fish to come running after her any minute, she led the horse into the woods.

Only Israel, from his pallet beneath the wagon, saw her go.

He rose on his elbow, watched, and lay back down.

The missy was taking an early ride.

She had done it! It had been amazingly easy.

Berry took a moment to soothe and praise the mare before leading her to a stump and mounting her.

Once away from the homestead, she laughed with relief.

The note she had left telling Rachel she had gone to the chokecherry patch to pick while it was cool would give her a few hours before they realized she was gone.

“I’m sorry to cause you worry, Rachel,”

she murmured, and the sound of her voice in the quiet of the forest was a comfort.

“I won’t sit and wait for Simon or any man to come along and take care of me. I’ve served my time knuckling under to a man’s wishes, just as you have.”

Saying the words seemed to lift her spirits.

She saw in her mind’s eye the map she had tucked in her pocket and turned the mare to the edge of the woods and followed the line of trees.

She had ridden out this way several times before and judged she wouldn’t reach unfamiliar territory until almost daylight.

In spite of all she could do to prevent it, her thoughts continually drifted to Simon.

She envisioned him vividly.

He was a handsome man when he didn’t have that damned hat on his head! Things would have been different between them, she mused, if he’d done some asking instead of telling her he would marry her as if it were something he had to do.

Damn him! This was the first time in her life she had some say in what she would or wouldn’t do.

She was going to make the most of it, and if she discovered that the land was swampy, as he had said, she would cross that bridge when she came to it.

The sky lighted with dawn.

Berry crossed a meadow and the pale light was enough to help her see the countryside and give wide berth to a marsh that would have slowed down the mare.

She rode on.

She was already hungry, but she would have to wait until mid-morning when she stopped to rest the mare.

The woods ahead looked thick and dark.

Berry stood in the stirrups and tried to see the river, but could see only more brush and trees.

The mare stopped of her own volition and Berry pulled the map from her pocket.

She sat the horse for a long moment and studied the terrain before and behind her.

The creek would lead her west.

It should be ahead.

She pointed the mare to the north and urged her forward.

Taking her time, Berry worked her way through the trees.

A wild turkey gobbled and scurried into the underbrush, then the woods were silent, except for the sound of the mare’s hooves and an occasional twitter from a bird in the branches overhead.

It seemed an eternity before she reached the creek and pulled the horse to a stop.

She slid from the saddle and led the mare to the water.

Berry found a place where she could kneel down to drink.

The bright, hot sun beat down on her.

She untied the strings of the stiff-brimmed calico bonnet that rode on her back and fanned her face with the brim before she put the bonnet on her head.

She didn’t like to wear it, because it made her feel as if she were seeing the world through a tunnel, but it was the only headgear she owned.

She pushed it as far back on her head as she could so that she could see on each side of her as well as in front. When she mounted the mare, she had to kick her several times before she would leave the lush grass that grew beside the stream.

“You can have more later on,”

she promised.

Berry soon discovered that the going had been easier before she reached the creek and turned west.

Here the grass came up to the mare’s belly and at times came up to drag on her feet in the stirrups.

It was hard walking for the mare.

As soon as she found a place where she could cross the stream she did so and followed an animal path that ran parallel to the creek.

The mare blew bubbles from her lips in appreciation and Berry patted her neck in understanding.

Noon came and the creek showed no sign of diminishing as indicated on the map.

If anything, it was wider and deeper.

Berry paused long enough to eat a couple of biscuits and to let the mare rest, then pushed on.

At times she had to move into the woods, out of sight of the creek, when the underbrush became too thick to pass through.

By mid-afternoon she didn’t have even an animal trail to follow.

Tired and disappointed, she let the mare amble on at her own pace.

When next she came out of the woods she stopped in surprise.

The sun hung just over the treetops to the west.

The day had passed swiftly.

She was tired.

The insides of her thighs were galled from being wet with sweat and rubbing against the saddle leather.

She had never before ridden for so long, and her back and bottom ached.

She urged the mare down to the creek and onto a sandy bank. Looking ahead, the creek was wide and filled with flowing water as far as she could see. Berry was sure she had traveled more than twenty miles. She had been riding for ten hours, or close to it by her reckoning, which meant that she had to be at least forty miles from Fain’s farm. The thought alarmed her. For the first time she doubted her wisdom in coming. The only bright spot in her thinking was the fact that she hadn’t come through swampy land, except for the tract with the tall grass, and that was shortly after she had turned west to follow the creek. That couldn’t be her land. The map showed her land north of the creek.

Should she start back? She gave a deep, disappointed sigh and slid from the mare’s back.

She went to stand at the mare’s head and rub her nose.

“You’re tired, too. Let’s rest here for a while and we’ll have to start back. Oh, damn! How I hate to give up.”

She took off her bonnet and let the breeze cool her face.

“Phew! It’s hot.”

Berry let the horse graze until the sun disappeared behind the treetops before she mounted and turned back. She wanted to get through the thick stand of trees and into the open before she stopped for the night.

She wasn’t sure when she felt the first prickle of fear. It may have been with her for hours; it had surfaced gradually. The mare’s ears had twitched and swiveled back even before they stopped on the sandbar. Now everything was so quiet. She no longer heard the twittering of birds or the chatter of squirrels. But of course, she and the mare would be enough to scare them away, she thought with her customary logic. She hung her bonnet on the saddle horn and scolded herself for letting her imagination run away with her. The weight of the musket in her skirt band was a comfort. What is there to be afraid of? she asked herself. A panther or a wildcat would be just as afraid of me as I am of it. They only attack when they’re hungry, and there’s plenty of small game here. She had seen deer, rabbits, and turkey.

The Indians in this area are Osage, she reasoned, and they have a government agreement to supply beaver pelts to Manuel Lisa, an important trader in Saint Louis. They wouldn’t jeopardize that agreement by harming a white girl.

But then again . . . there’s the Shawnee and the Delaware. They were pushed out of their homeland and across the river by Mad Anthony Wayne. They could take her, wander on west, and she would never be heard from again. Oh, damn! Why did she have to think of that?

Her thoughts were so busy that she came through the woods and out into the clearing before she realized it. She was tempted to push on, but she couldn’t remember another place to stop as suitable as this one. The mare had to rest. Her sides were heaving and the saddle blanket was soaked with sweat. Berry stopped the horse and got stiffly down. She held tightly to the reins and looked back toward the woods, glad to be through them. Night was coming on fast. In a short time it would be dark.

Berry led the mare to the creek to drink, then tied her to a downed tree trunk where she could reach the grass. She pulled the heavy saddle from the horse’s back and hung the wet blanket over a branch to dry, then carried her own blanket and food pack to the base of a large cottonwood. Just as she was about to drop her blanket she heard the warning sound of a rattlesnake. She jumped back. Not five feet away, coiled and ready to strike, was the largest snake she had ever seen. Cautiously she backed away while keeping her eyes on the snake. After a while it slowly uncoiled and slithered into the underbrush.

The snake’s departure didn’t ease Berry’s fright in the least. What to do now? She found a branch and beat the ground around the tree before she dropped her blanket and sat down. It wasn’t just the snake that caused her uneasiness. It was more than that. Every so often the mare would raise her head sharply, twitch her ears restlessly, and look back into the dense forest in the direction from which they had come. The wind had gone down and files and mosquitoes swarmed around the sweat-covered mare. She stamped her feet and swished her tail in an effort to be rid of them.

Berry ate a jam-filled biscuit and tried to justify in her own mind her reason for being here. She wished with all her heart that she had let Fish come with her. He was the one who had said it couldn’t be over twenty miles to her land. He was the one who had said to follow the creek until it ran out. Darn you, Fish, she thought, you didn’t know any more about the map than I did!

The sky darkened rapidly. Feeling lonely and afraid, Berry watched the mare and listened to her crop the grass. She fought back her fear with logic. One girl and one horse in all this vast land was like one pebble on the riverbed, one tree among the millions of trees, one star in the heavens. Who or what could find her here on this small spot of earth? She tried to reassure herself with the thought but had little success. Her fingers clung to the one real thing in all this frightening wilderness—the musket.

There was not a footfall to warn her.

Suddenly, as if they materialized out of her imagination, two Indians, whose austere features were streaked with yellow and white paint, loomed over her. One let out a bloodcurdling whoop and grabbed the hair at the top of her head. Berry was momentarily struck numb and didn’t have time to raise the musket before a moccasined foot lashed out and kicked it from her hand. She looked into the face of her assailant. What she saw caused the blood to freeze in her veins. She gasped with horror at the most terrifying vision she had ever beheld. The Indian who held her by the hair was naked except for a loincloth. His dark, wiry body was covered with grease. His eyes were deep set and hollow; they looked like the two dark eye sockets of a skull. White feathers, tied to strands of thick straight hair, hung down on each side of his face.

Berry recovered from the initial shock of the attack and began to struggle. She struck out at the Indian’s brown chest with all her might and clawed at his face with her nails. A blow landed on the side of her head and she found herself knocked flat to the ground. Breath left her, but when she finally was able to draw air into her lungs she came up fighting. She reached for the Indian’s face, intent on scratching out his eyes. Her feet kicked out high and wild. Untamed rage boiled up inside her and gave her strength. She would go down fighting! Kicking and thrashing, she continued her attack, heedless of the blows to the side of her head and the smelly body that pressed her to the ground. Determined to fight to the end against the overwhelming odds, Berry saw an opportunity and took it. She sank her teeth into the Indian’s arm and held on.

The hand in her hair jerked so hard that she thought the top of her head would come off. The pain was excruciating! Her jaws opened. She screamed. The Indian hauled her to her feet and she stood swaying. The blood in her mouth ran down her chin. Her stomach heaved and she threw up. The iron grip on her hair kept her head erect and the vomit spewed out and down over her breast.

Reason returned and she realized that the other Indian was laughing. He laughed and shouted taunts at her attacker. Older, but not as repulsive-looking as the one who held her, he continued to laugh, showing stubs of yellow teeth. He pointed to his companion’s loincloth and spraddled his legs. His gesture clearly indicated that he was calling him a woman for letting a weak white woman inflict injury.

The attacker scowled and shoved Berry facedown to the ground. She gasped from the pain and tears sprang to her eyes. Too numb with fear to move, she lay where he had flung her, shaking uncontrollably. She clenched her jaws to keep from crying out when her tormentor placed a foot on her hips and trod on her in a sign of contempt when he went to retrieve the musket.

Berry had never considered the possibility of being taken prisoner by Indians. The Indians they had met on the trail from Ohio had been a hungry, ragtag bunch looking for handouts. It was believed that the Osage across the river were more civilized than most, and this was their territory. What would they do with her? Would they kill her? Would the young one keep her for his squaw? The second thought was the one that filled her with dread. She wept inside for what might have been. Simon . . . Simon . . . Now I’ll never know what it was we didn’t do that night. You’ll never make it long and sweet for me, like you promised.

Berry lay still, hoping, praying that they would take the horse and leave. She could hear them talking and moved her head ever so slightly so she could peer beneath her outflung arm. The old Indian was building a fire, and the young one was eating the dried meat from her food pack. They were ignoring her! Maybe she could crawl into the underbrush and get away. She dug her elbows into the ground and pushed herself forward, stopped to see if the Indians had noticed, then pushed herself forward again. The old Indian had his back to her as he fed small sticks into the fire. The young one sat cross-legged on the ground, eating the food from her food pack as if he was starved. Berry inched her way to the bushes and rolled under them. She waited and listened. The only sounds were the crackling of the fire and the pounding of her heart.

Slowly, carefully, she moved out from under the tangled brush and got to her feet. The first thing she saw were moccasin feet and dirty leggings. The young Indian stood before her, hands on his hips. Almost before she could blink, his hand lashed out, collided with her jaw, and sent her stumbling back into the prickly brush.

“You . . . savage!”

she screamed.

“You . . . ugly, dirty, stinking savage!”

Her captor barked an order and gestured toward the fire. Berry turned her back on him and buried her face in her hands. He wrapped his hand in the thick dark hair that trailed down her back and gave a tug. There was nothing for her to do but to go where he indicated. She was a white woman, a captive of savages whose cruelty she did not even begin to know.

Fear constricted her stomach into a hard knot and she bowed her head, weeping wildly.