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Gray Feather then reached down and swept Song Sparrow up onto his horse with him. He placed a gentle arm around her waist and held her against him as he rode away with White Fire.
The journey back to White Fire’s cabin was one of silence. He regretted the strain that was there now since he had once again turned down the chief’s offer to live with the Chippewa.
He had learned while with them that year that adoption of whites and ’breeds was practiced among the varied tribes, especially because much sickness and past warring had claimed the lives of so many of them.
Adoption of those who were not of their tribe was the remedy to keep their populations large enough to defend their villages and to hunt for food.
White Fire had learned that Indians practiced adoption on a large scale, especially those tribes who were friendly with whites. He had discovered that the Chippewa might have been the most friendly of them all. Gray Feather had, in his heart, adopted White Fire, for they shared the same feelings about so many things.
Gray Feather had also admired the young man’s strength. His nobility. He had said more than once that White Fire did not seem to have white blood mingling with the Indian blood in his veins. It seemed best to the chief that he live among those whose skin matched his own.
But White Fire was being drawn elsewhere. He could hardly wait to see his son. His wife. He could already envision their reunion. It would be one of joy.
They rode onward through the thick underbrush of the Minnesota forest, and along the winding streams, past the sky-blue waters of many lakes, and then finally beside the mighty Mississippi.
Just as they made a turn at a bend in the river, White Fire caught sight of his cabin a short distance away in a break in the trees.
He turned quick eyes to Chief Gray Feather when the old chief drew his horse into a sudden shuddering halt.
“Gee-mah-gi-on-ah-shiq-wah, we part ways now,” Chief Gray Feather said sullenly. “But I will see you again wi-yee-bah, soon.”
“Mee-qway-chee-wahn-dum, thank you, my nee-gee, friend, for your kindness,” White Fire said, his voice quiet. “I will come soon to your village and have council with you.”
Chief Gray Feather nodded and rode away.
White Fire gazed at Song Sparrow when she turned to look at him as her father took her away. His insides stiffened when he saw the utter sadness in Song Sparrow’s eyes, and knew that he had again hurt her deeply. He regretted this, but at the moment, he had someone else on his mind.
He wheeled his horse around and rode in the direction of his cabin. Then he grew cold inside when he noticed that no smoke rose from the chimney, and the cabin was overgrown with vines.
An instant fear leaped into his heart when he saw that even the door was crisscrossed by vines. That had to mean only one thing. It had been some time since the door had been opened.
His heart pounding like a thousand drums inside his chest, he rode onward, then drew a tight rein in front of his cabin. When he saw the utter desolation of his home, and saw no one rushing from the cabin to welcome him, he dreaded knowing why.
Chapter 5
She walks in beauty, like the night,
Of cloudless climes and starry nights,
Thus mellowed to that tender light,
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
—George Gordon, Lord Byron
As the Virginia made its way around a bend in the river, Flame’s heart skipped a beat when she saw Fort Snelling. It was an impressive sight, perched hundreds of feet above the river on the top of a bluff. Built of stone, with a massive round guard tower, it looked a little like a castle to Flame, who had seen pictures of such things in her father’s books.
Outside the walls of the fort, down near the banks of the river, a number of crude structures had been built. Among them she spotted some tepees. This caused an excited shiver to race up and down her spine to know that she would be living this close to Indians.
Again the ’breed came to mind, yet she did not expect him to live like an ordinary Indian. While in St. Louis, with his military officer father, he had lived a life of affluence.
Yet, she could not help but wonder if perhaps after having become acquainted with the Indian side of his heritage, he might not have become as one with them, more Indian now than white.
She sighed heavily, almost certain that she would never know what sort of life he now lived, for the odds were against her ever seeing him again.
“Ma’am, I think it’s best you go to your cabin and prepare your things for departure from the boat,” a voice said from beside Flame, drawing her quickly out of her thoughts.
She turned and nodded curtly to a lieutenant who had been appointed her escort to Fort Snelling, a young man with a thick head of blond hair, and a wide-set mouth of flashing white teeth. She had been tempted to flirt with him on the voyage from St. Louis. But his uniform, with its shiny, brass buttons, and the way he stood so erect and stiff, made her think of how he reminded her too much of her father, who was stuffy and boorish in his behavior.
