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She lifted the hem of her dress and ran hard down the corridor to the library at the far back of the cabin.
Breathing hard, she shoved a portion of a braided rug aside and saw the handle to the trapdoor that had been placed there to make escape possible if something like this happened.
She lifted the trapdoor, went a few steps down, then closed it behind her. She knew that when it was closed, the rug that was nailed to it would fall into place, hiding the trapdoor beneath it.
Trembling, she reached around for a lantern and match, and soon had light to guide her onward to the passage ahead.
She held the lantern out before her and fled through a long underground tunnel that had been dug long ago for such an escape.
When she was almost at the end, she stopped to catch her breath.
She winced as she heard the thud of horses’ hooves overhead and continued gunfire and screams.
She knew that she must wait a while longer, and then, when all became quiet and she was sure that the Indians were gone, she would go on to the end of the tunnel and, hopefully, make a successful escape.
She breathed hard and sobbed as she recalled the sight of her father on the floor, dead, and then Malvina.
In all reality, she doubted that she would come out of this alive either.
It didn’t matter which tribe had come today to slaughter those left at the fort. It might be the Sioux, who had been on the warpath for some time now, and who were the most warlike of the tribes in the area, or it might be the young chief who had decided to seek revenge despite his usually peaceful nature. In either case, she doubted they would allow anyone to come out of the attack alive.
She thought back to the old Indian and how he’d spoken so favorably and lovingly of his nephew. A part of Candy wished that the attack was being led by Chief Two Eagles, for if she did somehow survive this ambush, might not he take pity on her, a mere woman?
Then another thought came to her.
She sobbed out the name Shadow.
Her pet wolf!
Was . . . she . . . also among the slaughtered?
Chapter Five
It, past escape,
Herself, now; the dream is done,
And the shadow and she are one.
—Robert Browning
As the sun lowered further toward the horizon and the air quickly cooled, Two Eagles sat on his black stallion, stunned silent by what he had just witnessed.
Just before he and his warriors had reached the fort, they had spotted many Sioux on horseback, looking fearsome in war paint. Screeching the war cry, the Sioux had sprung out of hiding and attacked the fort as Two Eagles and his men stayed back, in hiding, amid a thick stand of cottonwoods.
They had witnessed a full massacre. It appeared that no Sioux had died as the warriors rode away now, singing their victory songs. For no empty-saddled Sioux horses were among the many riderless horses that followed the warriors—horses they had stolen from the fort.
Ho, the Sioux had come and killed, and departed victorious, before Two Eagles had been given the chance to claim the same victory for himself and his warriors.
Wearing his breechclout and moccasins, he had his powerful bow slung across his left shoulder and a quiver of many arrows on his back. His thick, black hair hung loosely down his back to his waist as Two Eagles gazed from one of his warriors to another.
He saw the same shock on their faces that he felt within his own heart, knowing it was mixed with disappointment that they had been outdone again by the Sioux.
Two Eagles watched the Sioux ride away from the massacre until they were totally out of sight.
A strange sort of quiet had descended over the fort. The breeze rustling the leaves of the cottonwoods overhead was the only sound now, except for a horse that suddenly whinnied, and another responding in kind.
“My chief, what are we to do?” Running Wolf asked as he sidled his horse closer to Two Eagles’s.
