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As the battle continued, Blue Thunder realized that Big Nose was not among the renegades. He must have fled like a coward before the attack. Perhaps he had noticed Blue Thunder scouting from the hill.
It seemed just the sort of thing the heartless man might do—save himself as those who followed him dutifully died fighting for him.
After the firing ceased, Blue Thunder realized that those renegades who were not killed had fled.
Miraculously, none of the captives, or those who’d come to save them had died.
The captives still lay prone on the ground, unsure of whether or not they were safe.
Blue Thunder and the men under his command quickly dismounted. Gray Eyes helped the captives up from the ground, reassuring them that they were finally safe from all harm, while Blue Thunder and his men went to the fallen renegades, lying in pools of their own blood, to make absolutely certain they were dead. In a matter of moments they had ascertained that none were alive.
Blue Thunder now turned to gaze at the white woman as she slowly sat up and returned his look.
Her true beauty was evident this close, but he also saw stark fear in her eyes. He was not surprised. She did not know one Indian from another and probably thought him and his warriors as dangerous as the Comanche renegades. After all, she had just seen them kill all the renegades who had not fled.
He returned her steady gaze and knew that this was not the time to reassure her that she was now safe and would be treated well. He knew that at this moment, while death lay all around her, anything he said to her would be wasted words, for he doubted she would believe him.
He turned and watched Gray Eyes gather around him those of his warriors who were strong enough to stand and listen.
His heart swelled with pride and love for Gray Eyes as his friend went from one man to another, taking the time to hug and reassure each.
Blue Thunder could well imagine the pain his friend was feeling in his heart when Gray Eyes went to those warriors who could hardly hold their heads up from the ground.
Gray Eyes hugged each of them, reassuring them that all would now be well.
Once he had explained the debt of gratitude they all owed Blue Thunder, all who could stand gathered with Blue Thunder’s warriors and awaited orders from Blue Thunder and Gray Eyes about what their next move might be.
“Go through the bags that the Comanche have placed on their packhorses. Inside will be the belongings they stole from the white people’s cabins before burning them,” Blue Thunder said, slowly looking from man to man.
Gray Eyes was standing back a little, giving Blue Thunder the right to direct all the men.
Gray Eyes found himself fighting back tears, so he would not look weak in the eyes of his friend. He owed Blue Thunder so much for what he had risked today . . . the chance that his own men might die for the sake of those who belonged to another Assiniboine band.
“Also round up all of the horses—not only those that belonged to the downed renegades, but also those that
were stolen from the herd of the Owl Band,” Blue Thunder said. “Take them back to your homes. You also will share the white people’s possessions and horses that we have made our own.”
Gray Eyes stepped up to Blue Thunder. “The horses that the Comanche stole from me and those that belonged to the white people are now yours, my friend, as well as the bags of the white people’s belongings. These all shall be yours in thanks for what you did for me and my warriors today.”
Before Blue Thunder could argue the point with Gray Eyes, his friend walked a few steps past Blue Thunder and closely studied the white woman.
He then turned to Blue Thunder again. “I do not ask for the white woman,” he said thickly. “My friend, will you take her? White women are helpless and unable to do the work of Indian women. This woman would only eat food necessary for my own people’s survival. Blue Thunder, you have food enough to share with this captive, as well as lodging and pelts to keep her warm when the cold winter winds begin to blow. I have lost so much. I do not need a white woman to take what little we have left.”
Blue Thunder hesitated. He had never wanted captives of any sort, especially those with white skin. He had no wish to give the white pony soldiers cause to come to his village because a white woman was there.
But . . . this was not just any white woman. He had seen enough of her to know that she was someone who intrigued him to the very core of his being.
And knowing that what his friend had said was true, Blue Thunder was tempted to agree to his offer of handing the white woman over to him.
“I see what you say as true, and because I do not want to see any more harm come to your village, I will take her myself. If her presence brings white pony soldiers to the Wind Band, I have enough warriors to discourage an attack,” Blue Thunder said. He nodded as he took slow steps toward Shirleen, his gaze never leaving her green eyes. “Yes, I will take her.”
Shirleen trembled as Blue Thunder stepped up to her, his eyes still reaching into her soul, it seemed.
There was much about this powerful-looking Indian that told her he was not one to fear, yet it was still true that his skin was red, and red-skinned men had come and destroyed her world today. They had brutally murdered her neighbors, people who’d never brought harm into anyone’s lives. They were all God-loving souls.
She swallowed hard as she fought back the sting of tears at the thought of her sweet Megan. She was almost certain now that she would never see or hold her daughter again.
She felt so numb inside, she no longer cared whether she was a captive or not.
