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She looked up suddenly; catching him off guard, then froze. As if she had the ability to read his thoughts. But her eyes stared without blinking at him and the tiniest flicker of fear danced in their shadows. As Sam frowned in return, he realized she was not staring at him, but somewhere beyond him.
He turned around to look. So engrossed in his thoughts and with the night air blowing upwind, he did not hear someone approach from behind. From within the shadow of trees he saw the outline of a horse. The orange glow from the fire provided just enough light to see the Indian sitting on top of it.
Slowly, Sam got to his feet. Generally, Indians didn’t leave him feeling nervous. But that was before they nearly burned Ivy down in the church earlier that day. Though if he were to be honest, he suspected they knew nothing of her presence inside the building. If they did, she wouldn’t be sitting across the bonfire from him now.
The Indian rode his horse further into their camp. Sam recognized him immediately as the same Indian that was in the shop. He kept his eyes on the shaman as he slowly surveyed the area. His dark eyes settling on Ivy, before returning to Sam.
In his native tongue, the Indian asked, “Is that your woman?”
Without hesitating, Sam replied, “Yes.”
The Indian’s eyes drifted over Sam, taking note of his size and build, then stopping at the holster noticeably visible without his coat. “It is
cold night for white man.”
Sam slowly nodded and responded in the native language, “Yes, it is.”
“Tonight the snow will come.”
The natives had a way of predicting the weather. Their understanding of nature and the earth was like no other.
“The woman will need warmth.”
At that, Sam made no reply. If the Indian thought he would be the one to offer Ivy warmth, he had a battle to face. Then the Indian moved and Sam instinctively became alert. Reaching behind him, the Indian produced one of the fur pelts he had brought to the shop earlier for trade, and held it out to Sam.
Hesitating, he watched the Indian warily, and then took the offered fur with a nod. “Thank you.”
The Indian nodded, and then glanced back at the fire. The smell of food drifted up from the tin can it was cooking in. From the conversation in the trading post earlier, he was aware of the natives being deprived.
“You’re welcome to sit at our fire and eat with us.”
In his peripheral vision he saw Ivy jerk. Ignoring her, he locked his eyes on the Indian. The man nodded, then slowly slid off his horse and approached the fire. His eyes shifted to Ivy, who huddled further into Sam’s coat.
“Your woman has eyes of ice and hair of fire.”
“And a temperament to match.” He thought it best to detour the Indian’s interest in Ivy as best he could. There was no getting out of his being there in their camp. It was best Sam played it cool and saw exactly what the Indian wanted.
The Indian actually smirked, then surveyed Sam. “You know my tongue well, white man,” he said and offered Sam a nod of approval.
“I’ve spent much time with the Chippewa’s of Montana.”
Again the Indian watched Sam closely as if weighing the validity of his words. Then he nodded once more and turned his attention back to Ivy. “And the woman?”
“Does not understand.”
Nodding again, he took his first mouthful. Then ate in silence. Sam met Ivy’s wary glance over his bent head. Silently, he sent her a reassuring look. She seemed to relax slightly.
“Where do you go?”
“Fort William. We were on the train that derailed.”
The Indian seemed to absorb this bit of information. Finally, he got to his feet and Sam followed suit. The Indian turned and nodded to Ivy before heading for his horse. Sam watched the shaman and felt a pang of remorse. He did not agree with murder. But murdering and killing were two different things. Hell, Sam had killed enough men in his own time. But they had all been well deserved. Even if there was a plausible reason, murdering was the lowest form of man. Still, he found himself saying, “Hold up.”
The Indian turned and waited as Sam went to his saddlebag and retrieved the bag of rice he had bought at the shop. Holding it out to the Indian, he said, “In exchange for the pelt.”
The Indian hesitated before offering a single nod and taking the bag. Glancing back toward the camp, he eyed Ivy, her copper curls ablaze from the light of the fire. Returning his gaze to Sam, he warned, “It does the white man well to forget not the danger of misjudging the power of wildfire.”
Then he left as quietly as he had come.
