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“George?” The colonel’s voice broke through George’s thoughts.
“What do you want to do?” Colonel Hawkins asked. “I can see the dread in your eyes . . . the fear. I know what you’re thinking.”
“No, I don’t believe you do,” George said tightly.
“George, I think we should get back to the fort and send troops out immediately in all directions to try to find Mountain Jack before he goes into hiding again,” Colonel Hawkins said. “I believe he’s on his way to where he sells scalps.”
“And what about Shoshana?” George asked, his voice drawn.
“Hopefully, the scalp hunter has spared her life,” Colonel Hawkins mumbled.
George went pale and felt sick to his stomach at the various possible fates that might have befallen Shoshana. If Mountain Jack hadn’t already taken her scalp, he might be planning to sell her as a slave
.
“Damn him to hell,” George gulped out, then rushed outside as fast as his wooden leg would take him. There he vomited, the thought of what his daughter might be enduring devastating him.
“George, we’ll find her,” Colonel Hawkins said as he handed George a cloth to wipe his mouth with. “Be brave, George. Come on. We’ve wasted enough time here.”
George wiped his mouth clean, tossed the cloth into the brush, and then, with a tight jaw and angry fire in his eyes, mounted his steed.
When he found that damn scalp hunter, there would be no mercy showed him, especially if he had harmed Shoshana in any way.
George had not saved that small, helpless child so long ago only to lose her to such vermin as Mountain Jack and those who aligned themselves with him.
“You’ll regret the day you left the military to take up scalp hunting,” George growled between his clenched teeth.
Chapter Twenty
And this maiden, she lived
With no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
—Edgar Allan Poe
Shoshana was glad she felt up to riding again, her lump having faded to a slight yellowish discoloration on her brow.
She was especially happy to be riding with Storm, on their way to see something he had said he wanted to show her.
Just as they were ready to ride from his village, she noticed something that intrigued her. It was a huge pen of turkeys.
She glanced over at Storm. “I see that you raise turkeys to eat,” she said, recalling the turkey dinners she had eaten every Christmas, no matter where George had been stationed.
She could even now smell the delicious aromas wafting from the kitchen as the cook prepared the special meal while Shoshana sat beside the tree, unwrapping gifts.
That seemed another lifetime now, but she was content to be who she had become. She had no wish to return to that other life.
“We do not eat turkeys,” Storm said. “We use their feathers for many things. Did you know that Chiricahua was taken from the word Chiquicaqui, which means mountain of the wild turkeys?”
“No. There are so many things I do not know about my people,” Shoshana said somberly. She gazed intently into his eyes as they rode onward. “I so want to know what I have missed learning. I’ve read as much as I could about our people, but that is not the same as living it.”
“You are still young,” Storm said gently. “You have time to learn all that you wish to learn.”
“For a while, after Mountain Jack captured me, I doubted that I had even another day to live,” she murmured. “It is a miracle that you came when you did and set me free.” She smiled radiantly at him. “I know that I have thanked you already, but I want to do it again,” she said softly. “Thank you, Storm. Thank you so much.”
“I feel grateful, too. If I had not found you, I would not know the wonder of these precious moments with you,” Storm said.
