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Silently High Hawk motioned a halt when the men at the campfire
came into sight. They were getting ready to mount up.
Joylynn’s eyes widened when she saw how many soldiers had aligned themselves with Mole and his murdering, thieving outlaws.
And when she saw a pile of firearms that was being distributed by the soldiers to the outlaws, she knew there was a collaboration between these murdering thieves and someone in the army. She wondered how far up the chain of command the corruption went.
“My prayers were not ignored. Tirawahut, my people’s Great Spirit, told me where to come today,” High Hawk whispered as he leaned closer to Joylynn. “My dreams brought me here just in time!”
“I am sickened by what I see,” Joylynn whispered back. “Did you see the rifles? How many there are? The soldiers had to have brought them there, to give to Mole and his men. I am certain they are army-issued rifles.”
“I see it all and I am here to stop it,” High Hawk replied, studying the white men now as they loaded their rifles, laughing, boasting of the Pawnee scalps they would take, the squaws they would rape.
He turned back toward Joylynn. “You have time now to return to the village,” he said, his voice drawn. “If you stay, you will see things that may give you nightmares for the rest of your life.”
He looked at the rifle she clutched hard in her right hand, then gazed into her eyes again. “Especially if you kill people whose skin is white like yours,” he said. “Turn away now if you feel you should. I would understand.”
“I would never turn away from doing justice,” Joylynn said, her eyes filled with loathing for those who were planning to kill innocent people. She searched his eyes. She squared her shoulders. “And I am not afraid.”
High Hawk smiled. “I saw much courage in you the night we first met,” he said. “You are like no woman I have ever known, and you are mine.”
“Ho, yours,” Joylynn said, proud to be using an Indian word now and then, for when she did, she knew she pleased High Hawk.
He reached a hand to her cheek, then nodded. “It is now time,” he said softly.
The attack happened so quickly it seemed like a blur to Joylynn. The Pawnee warriors fired upon the outlaws and their allies. The soldiers grabbed their firearms and tried to defend themselves, but to no avail.
Suddenly there was silence. There were no more reports from the rifles. There was no sound of arrows whizzing through the air. There were no more cries of death.
All who had been plotting against the red men were quiet. Their voices would no longer mock the Pawnee before they killed innocent villagers. None of those who spoke of raping a downed Indian woman were alive to brag about such a deplorable act again. No Indian child would die at the hands of these fallen men today!
But Joylynn had not gotten off one round of gunfire. Once the attack began, she had frozen. Her eyes wide, she had watched it happen, and then it was over.
A warrior rushed over to High Hawk. “One escaped,” he said breathlessly. “Two of our warriors have gone in pursuit of him.”
Joylynn hardly heard what he said, for her eyes were on Mole. He lay there, quiet, covered with blood.
He was obviously dead.
His reign of terror was over.
He would no longer ambush innocent people, both red and white-skinned.
He would no longer rape helpless women!
She turned her eyes away, for seeing him again brought the rape rushing back into her mind as though it had just happened.
Her hand went almost automatically to her belly. The loss of her child still tore at her soul.
If not for that man, she would have not been pregnant. She would not have aborted an innocent baby!
But if not for him, she would have never met High Hawk. Even now she would be riding Swiftie on her route for the Pony Express.
She never would have known the bliss and joy of being with High Hawk. She would have had no need to hide away from humanity until the child was born. She would not have been at that cabin that night when High Hawk rode by.
“Joylynn?”
High Hawk’s voice interrupted her troubled thoughts. She turned quickly toward him.
