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Tears fell from her eyes as she again thought of her daughter and what might have happened to her. If Megan was out in the wilderness all alone, she might be the victim of animal attacks, or . . . other redskins.
She gazed heavenward and silently prayed that the good Lord would make all of these wrongs right, and look after her child, who was so pure and helpless.
Again she hung her head, her sore feet dragging even more heavily along the ground. Her legs were weak from walking so far without stopping to rest.
She reached up and found dried blood in her hair from her head injury, and a huge knot almost the size of a chicken egg.
It pounded as if someone were hitting her over and over again in the head with a hammer; the pain was so bad sometimes, she had the urge to vomit.
But she had thus far successfully kept herself from vomiting, for she was afraid that if she did, she might choke.
Her mouth was so dry. She couldn’t remember when she had last had a drink of water.
Her stomach ached from hunger, so much that it felt as though something was twisting in her intestines.
No. She had never been so hungry, or thirsty, or afraid, as now. And she was so sad and empty at the loss of all of her friends. But worst of all was not knowing the fate of her lovely, sweet Megan.
All she could do was hope that her prayers reached the heavens and would be answered.
She wasn’t sure how much longer she could last under these conditions, and the warriors seemed even more listless than she.
She tried to focus on something else. She wondered about her husband and the other men who were away trading. When they arrived home and discovered the massacre, what would they do?
Yes, she had planned to flee her husband today, but now she hoped that he cared enough to come and try to save her, although the scars on her back made by his belt proved the ugliness of his spirit. Perhaps she would be better off with Indians!
At least she knew that her husband cared enough about his daughter to search for her. He had never laid a hand on Megan. As far as Shirleen knew, Earl did truly love his daughter.
A movement to her far left, on a rise of land, drew Shirleen’s attention suddenly. She saw a lone Indian there gazing down at those who were traveling below him. She wondered if he belonged to this renegade group, or another that might be even more heartless. Was he a scout of some kind?
By the way he turned to follow the procession down below him, it was certain that he had spotted her and the others.
She looked quickly ahead at the renegades and saw that they had not yet noticed the Indian who was spying on them. They were too cocky about their victory today, laughing and talking amongst themselves.
Her heart pounding, Shirleen gazed quickly up at the rise where she had seen the lone Indian, gasping when she saw he had disappeared.
The renegades continued to ride nonchalantly through the long, waving grass, unaware that they’d been seen.
She was not certain how to feel about that lone Indian. She did not know whether to feel hopeful that he and his friends might save her from the renegades who had come and raped and killed today.
Or should she fear them even more?
Thus far she had not been harmed by her captors except for the blow to her head.
Might these others rape her as soon as they had her as their captive?
Were they another band of renegades, or were they from a decent band of Indians?
Shirleen hoped for the latter. Perhaps they were a good-hearted band, who would let her go and search for her beloved Megan.
But knowing that most Indians hated white people because of what the white people had taken from them, Shirleen did not have much hope that she would be treated any better by a new group of Indians than she was now being treated.
Again she hung her head and walked dispiritedly through the grass, ignoring the splash of golden wildflowers at her far left. Usually she enjoyed seeing flowers. She would never hesitate to take a bouquet home for her supper table.
Tears filled her eyes again at the realization that her former life was now lost to her. She would no longer be among those who were civilized and God-loving.
Chapter Five
All our actions take their hues
