CHAPTER TWO
As Sharon watched the Indian gentleman who had now rescued her twice from a terrible fate, she frowned. What had happened back there in the lodge of the evil man who had abducted her? Had she witnessed magic? Or had her hero been able to hypnotize both her and her abductor?
It had to be the last. There was no such thing as magic in this hard and often unkind world; magic was simply a myth, kept alive only by the uneducated.Wasn't it?
Yet, whether it was magic or hypnotism that had been the cause of the battle between the spider and the little man, Sharon was now free of her kidnapper and was safe, although the word "safe" in this wild and untamed Western land was a relative term.
Still, she was well aware of a feeling of security since she was now with her Indian hero, but this wasn't only because of this man's actions on her behalf. She also realized he would return her to the Blackfeet Pikuni camp and to her friend Amelia and Amelia's husband, Gray Falcon.
Her hero hadn't announced this to her. How could he? Neither one of them spoke the other's language. But, it was true. She knew it.
It bothered her that she didn't know this man's name nor even how to ask it of him. True, he spoke the Crow language, as well as the Blackfoot tongue and the Plains sign language.
But, she didn't know any of those well enough to speak them. Though recently she had been learning the sign language from her friend, Amelia, she didn't know its gestures well enough to converse with a man who had "spoken" it all his life. Sadly, the only dialect she had mastered so far in this life was English, and it was evident this was a vernacular her hero hadn't yet learned.
However, the thought of returning to the Pikuni camp and to Amelia brought back the memory of the last time she had seen her friend. Had Amelia and Gray Falcon weathered the battle without harm? What about David?
Again, she wished she could ask these questions of her hero, but she didn't know how to communicate them.
At present, her Indian hero had taken charge of both animals and was leading her pony and the other recently acquired horse behind him, keeping both ropes of the ponies in his hand. But, why had he taken possession of hers? Was he afraid she might try to run away from him? Didn't he know she felt safe only as long as she remained with him?
She wouldn't leave. She would be a fool to do so, especially because she possessed no knowledge of how to get back to camp. But again, she didn't know how to tell this to him.
As they strode out upon the open brown prairie and away from the camp of the magician, she looked forward, studying this man who had now twice come to her aid. He walked straight, with his shoulders back, and he looked slim and quite handsome in an Indian sort of way. Of course, she much preferred the look of the European gentleman, provided the man shaved off his facial hair. Too many of the white men in this part of the country not only grew beards, but they also grew them so long, sometimes the beard hung down almost to the man's waist.
It was a look she found unattractive.
But, though the whiskerless look of an Indian man was more attractive to her, she still preferred the smooth-shaven appearance of a European man. Her fiancé, for example…
Although, if she were to be honest, she would admit it bothered her that the first time she had been in a situation where she might have lost her life, her fiancé had not acted in her defense, though he had been in the vicinity of the trouble. Instead, it was this Indian gentleman alone who had come to her aid.
As though the simple remembrance of the danger she had faced brought it back to life, she shuddered, remembering again how it had happened:
It had taken place on the day of the buffalo hunt, several weeks ago. At David's request, she had followed him out onto the vast expanse of the prairie, watching David as he had sat proudly upon the back of his pony. The painter's brush in David's hand had been flying over the canvas he'd held upon his other arm. Busy setting the image of an infuriated—and injured—buffalo bull down onto the hemp of his canvas, he had been so engrossed in his work, he hadn't seen, wasn't even aware of the danger. In truth, Sharon hadn't been alert to the threat, either, until she'd heard a thumping sound close-by to her.
Looking over her shoulder, horror struck her when she espied an entirely different buffalo, one that was running furiously toward her. She remembered screaming and turning in her seat, trying desperately to get out of the way. But it was not to be. She couldn't control her horse; it wouldn't budge.
She screamed again, saying a brief but impassioned prayer to the One Above. Then, suddenly an arm came around her waist and before she knew what was happening, she was whisked off her own mount and onto another.
She recalled a man's strong arm roughly settling her in front of him. Risking a quick gaze up at him, she realized it was an Indian who had come to her aid. He kept his arm around her waist as though he were afraid she might fall. In a quick second his steed, seemingly knowing what to do, veered away from the danger.
But, what about her own pony?
"My poor horse!" she cried, watching as her previous mount, now aware of the danger, ran quickly away…and hopefully in time to escape the buffalo.
But now what?
Had she been rescued from one brush with death only to face another? As though time had paused for a moment, she recalled stories she had read in her youth about white women who had been so ill-fated as to be captured by Indians.
The mere remembrance caused her to tremble, and she thought she would surely faint. Indeed, she might have done so, because she could remember nothing more until the moment when the Indian warrior had reined in his animal.
Her memories of Indian capture stories and the fear of what might happen to her caused her to shake so greatly, she couldn't move. She couldn't even speak. Indeed, she was only vaguely aware of the man dismounting behind her and then stepping toward her. In her own mind, she pulled away from him, but if she had done so, the man didn't seem to notice. And, when he placed his arms around her and picked her up off the animal, she thought she would faint. But she didn't.
As soon as the Indian put her onto the ground, she collapsed; she was awake, but she couldn't control her body's shivering. Oddly, the grass was her friend in this place, for it seemed to cushion her.
The Indian warrior made some motions toward her in the hand language, but she was too frightened to even look at his hands. He then picked her up, and, when his arms came around her, raw fear consumed her.
This was it! He meant to abuse her!
