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Several warriors could go to the fort and get White Fire out of that damnable prison where chains and balls held him hostage.
It was a horrible thought to know that what was done to him now was far worse than what had happened to him at the hand of the Sioux during his three-year captivity with them.
“And to think that my father is the cause!” she cried to the heavens.
Then she stopped with a start and her eyes widened when she saw a cabin through a break in the trees up ahead. Her heart pounded like a thousand drums inside her chest as she also saw a small barn at the far side of the cleared yard at the back of the cabin.
“If only I had a horse,” she whispered, edging her way closer to the clearing that led to the cabin and barn. But she had never stolen anything. Could she now? Or should she go and ask those who lived at the cabin for help?
No, she could not take that chance. She had no idea who lived there, whether it was a family, or a lonely trapper who might take advantage of a lone woman.
“I have no choice,” she whispered. She had to steal a horse, if one was available.
As she got closer to the back of the barn, she scarcely breathed while looking guardedly from side to side.
When she saw no one, she rushed to the barn and placed her back flat against it. She waited long enough to get her breath, then crept along the back of the barn until she could look around a corner and get a full view of the cabin.
Smoke spiraled from the chimney. But still she saw no one. She didn’t see any movement through the windows, for the sun was reflecting against them, making the pane of glass look like a shield of orange fire.
Then her eyes widened and she turned an ear in the direction of the cabin when she heard the strumming of a guitar and a man’s voice as he began singing.
Flame smiled. The man inside the cabin would be too occupied with his music to notice what might happen outside. The music would even drown out the sound of a horse being stolen.
“Let there be a horse,” Flame whispered, knowing that some of the trappers in this area owned only mules, which were too often stubborn to move but an inch at a time along the trail.
Holding her breath, her eyes watching the door of the cabin, Flame ran around the edge of the barn and headed toward the open door.
Once inside, she sighed with relief when she saw a great roan standing in a stall, idly nibbling on hay, its big brown eyes trustingly watching her approach.
Flame smiled at her luck when she saw that whoever the horse belonged to had not removed its saddle.
“Whoa, boy,” Flame whispered as she approached the roan. “I’m a friend. Do you hear? A friend. You and I are going to take a ride this morning.”
The horse softly whinnied and shook its heavy mane playfully as Flame untied the reins from around a rail. She knew that she had made a fast friend of the animal. Smiling, she led the horse from its stall.
To be sure she had the horse’s full trust, she stopped long enough to run her hands along its withers, then allowed it to nuzzle her hand.
“We’re pals, right?” she whispered, again patting its withers. “You’re going to get me to the Indian village real quick, aren’t you?”
Feeling comfortable enough now with the horse, and fully trusting it, Flame led it over to the door of the barn. She stopped and stared at the cabin once again
.
She listened intently and smiled when she heard that the man was still too involved with his music to know that he was soon to lose a valuable horse to a lady.
“I’ll get it back to him whenever I can,” she whispered. She hurriedly led the horse from the barn.
She walked into the shadows of the forest, then swung herself into the saddle and rode off at a fast gallop.
When she heard a man loudly cursing behind her, she knew that the thievery had been discovered. But the man had no way to catch her. She had stolen his swiftest mode of travel.
Feeling guilty for being a thief, Flame frowned. Then she leaned low over the horse and forgot everything and everyone but White Fire.
Her hair flying in the wind, she imagined White Fire in balls and chains. Her father had taken her into the dark, dank dungeon where White Fire had been incarcerated. Her father had forced her to see how he was being held there, unclothed and helpless.
She would never forget her father’s evil laughter when he saw her distress over White Fire’s mistreatment. That laughter, the harshness of it, made Flame vow that somehow, some way, she would set her beloved free.
She rode hard through the forest, and then made her way along the Mississippi River, knowing that she should soon reach the Chippewa village. She was now familiar enough with the terrain around their village to know when she would be getting near. She was seeing much now that was familiar to her.
