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“I heard no gunfire,” Proud Horse said, lifting an eyebrow.
“That is because there was none,” Blue Thunder replied, his eyes dancing. “Arrows are lodged in their bodies, not bullets.”
“That was clever, my chief, for gunfire would have been heard by the soldiers at the fort,” Proud Horse said. “Who is to say whether they would have condoned the killing, or condemned us as murderers? Your plan was the best for all concerned.”
“But now, my warrior, you must leave and search out the evil white man,” Blue Thunder said. “If you find him, silence him. But, remember, we do not want to draw undue attention to our vengeance.”
Proud Horse quickly gave Blue Thunder a bear hug, then chose the warriors who would ride with him. With their bows slung across their shoulders, their quivers filled with unused arrows, they rode away into the darkest depths of the forest.
Blue Thunder sighed heavily. Though he was proud of what had b
een achieved today, he was disappointed that Earl Mingus had eluded them.
He untied his reins and held them as he swung up into his saddle. The warriors who had stayed behind did the same.
As they turned and rode back in the direction of their village, Blue Thunder was lost in thought about Earl Mingus.
What had changed Earl’s mind about boarding the paddlewheeler? he wondered. Had he awakened from his drunken stupor to realize that he had been duped by a goldenhaired woman, who now had his daughter in her possession?
The man had wanted to be rid of both his daughter and his wife, but he would be furious if he realized somehow that they had been reunited. He would stop at nothing to find them, and if he succeeded, Blue Thunder did not even want to think about what he might do to them.
No matter what, Earl Mingus had to be found!
He had to be killed!
Or his woman’s nightmare would not be over at all.
Chapter Thirty-one
Love is a passion which kindles
Honor into noble acts.
—Dryden
January . . . Wah-nee-e-too, winter Early in the Moon of Frost on the Tepee
Shirleen sat beside her lodge fire as she sewed beads on a new pair of tiny moccasins for her daughter. She looked up through the smoke hole, seeing a lovely blue sky and a bright sun. But she knew that it was quite cold outside. Snow had fallen the entire night, and there was now a blanket of white outside the tepee.
She had learned soon after moving to Wyoming that winters there could be relentless, a time of frostbite, black ice, and dizzying whiteouts. Bare-limbed cottonwoods stood ghostly white near the village with snow resting on their limbs.
Shirleen smiled to herself as she thought of the snowy wonderland the Assiniboine children had played in.
Shirleen had stood just outside the entranceway of the tepee for a while, watching Megan teach the children of the village two games that white children played.
Megan had shown them how to make a snowman, though it lacked the usual carrot nose since no carrots were grown at this village.
A stick had been substituted for the nose, and small, round stones had been used to make the eyes and a smiling mouth.
Shirleen had smiled as her daughter taught the girls how to make snow angels. Their imprints remained in the snow, but the children were inside their warm homes now, listening to stories or playing indoor games.
Megan was at Bright Sun’s tepee playing with Little Bee and would spend the night with her. The two children had become almost inseparable.
Tonight they planned to eat popped corn by the fire as Aunt Bright Sun told them the stories of her ancestors.
“Tiny Flames, what are you so deep in thought about?” Blue Thunder asked as he came into the tepee, dripping wet.
He was glad that she now used her Indian name, not the one she had been born with. It made her seem more a part of his people.
