He sprinted toward Julian at the same instant the man pulled that trigger. And so slowly was his world spinning, he could even see the bullet coming. Throwing himself forward, he sprang in front of it.
His body jerked as the full impact of that bullet hit him, and the pain was almost unbearable. And then there was nothing.
Chapter
Twenty-Three
…Scenes of the old trail come flooding back to me: Places where the earth was like a Persian rug, the lavender, red, and yellow wild flowers mingling with the silvery green prairie grass. There were places where we saw wild turkeys among the cottonwood trees, and where the wild grapevines ran riot. Always there were buffalo… The old trail, the long trail over which once flowed the commerce of a nation, lives now only in the memory of a few old hearts. It lives there like a lovely, oft repeated dream.
—MARIAN RUSSELL,LAND OF ENCHANTMENT: MEMOIRS OF MARIAN RUSSELL ALONG THE SANTA FE TRAIL
“No!” Angelia jerked herself free of the bounty hunter and ran to Swift Hawk. “No! No!”
The bounty hunter had dropped the rifle to the ground. Julian rushed forward to take possession of it. But no threat was necessary. The bounty hunter was backing away from them, his eyes staring into space and popping open. He looked as though he were seeing ghosts.
With a shrill scream, the man turned—abandoning Julian, Angelia and his horse—and ran in the opposite direction.
An odd silence descended over the prairie. One that even the wind did not disturb.
But Angelia could barely sense it. “Please, Julian,” she cried into that silence, “run to the wagon train and see if a doctor can come here at once.”
Julian didn’t move.
“Please, Julian. Hurry!”
But there was no answer from Julian. Looking up, Angelia could see that he too was staring around him as though he were confronting something supernatural.
What was happening? Something was. But what?
And then she saw it. Mists had taken form over the prairie, appearing like… Were they shadows? Shadows of people?
Gradually they were coming more and more into focus. People were materializing from that mist. Instead of shadows, they were real people. A people she didn’t know, she was quick to realize, a people she had never seen. They surrounded her, Julian and Swift Hawk.
More and more mist appeared, more and more hazy images appeared, then became real, more substantial, until they seemed as real as any person walking the face of the earth.
They were Indians, these people, though their appearance, their style of clothing, looked ancient.
From out of the foggy haze one man stepped forth. He was an old man, a very old man. He trod toward them, and, bending at last, he touched Swift Hawk’s face.
He spoke, and amazingly, Angelia understood every word of what he was saying, although she could never be certain that he spoke in English. “Behold, I am White Claw, medicine man of the Blackfoot Tribe.” He regarded her solemnly, his old face wrinkled with age. “This man before you is a great warrior. He has broken a spell that has enslaved his people for hundreds of years.”
Angelia stared, then slowly nodded. “But he needs attention. If you are a medicine man, can you help him? He has been shot—whilst he was saving my brother’s life, and I fear… I fear…” Her voice caught, and she bit her lip.
“There is little I can do,” said White Claw. “It was his privilege to die for his people. His name will be remembered forever. And we will sing songs to his glory so long as we exist.”
“No! No! I won’t accept that, and if you say he must die, then you must go away from here. Julian, go get that doctor!”
Julian didn’t move.
“What’s wrong with you people?” There were tears in her eyes. “Don’t you understand that I don’t want songs or glory? Neither does he. He sacrificed himself for me, for my brother. That man back there—I think that was the man Swift Hawk was supposed to have helped. But he didn’t, because of me.”
The old man gazed at her, his look wise, yet his eyes were wet. “Are you saying he committed a completely unselfish act?”
“I…I?—”
“No, I acted selfishly,” said a deep voice, one Angelia recognized at once.
“Swift Hawk?” Angelia cried, and bending down to him, she placed her face next to his. “Swift Hawk?” One of his arms came around to pull her close.
