Reckless Heart by Madeline Baker Page A

“My Ma…they slit her throat.”
    A terrible silence filled the room as Joshua’s voice trailed off. His face was twisted with pain. His finger went white around the trigger.
    Shadow’s expression remained impassive, and I wondered what he was thinking and why he wasn’t afraid when death was staring him in the face.
    Mother stood pale and silent, her lips moving in a silent prayer. Claire Berdeen had been my mother’s dearest friend. Once they had hoped Josh and I would wed.
    “I got no love for Indians,” Pa said stonily. “You know that, Josh. But it wasn’t Shadow who killed your folks.”
    “Injuns is Injuns,” Josh retorted bitterly.
    “Joshua, put that gun down. Now!” Pa did not raise his voice, but his hard tone carried the ring of authority, and Josh swore under his breath as he shoved the big old Colt back into the waistband of his pants. The tension drained out of the room as he sank down onto a chair by the stove and buried his face in his hands.
    “I’m sorry about your folks, Josh,” Mother said compassionately. “We all are. You know you’re more than welcome to stay here.”
    Joshua’s head snapped up. He shot Shadow a venomous glance as he said, “No, thanks, Mrs. Kincaid. If you folks will lend me a horse and some grub, I’ll be on my way.”
    “Where to, Josh?” I asked.
    “I can’t fight the whole Indian nation by myself,” he said gruffly, “so I’m gonna join up with the Cavalry.”
    “Joshua…”
    “Don’t try to stop me, Mrs. Kincaid. There’s gonna be war on the plains, and I mean to be right in the middle of the hottest spot—killing Injuns!”
     
    It was nearing one o’clock by the time I left the trading post. By then, Mother had bandaged Josh’s wound, and I had packed him some food. Pa had given him a horse and a change of clothes and a few dollars to tide him over ‘til he reached Fort Lincoln. Josh gave me a light kiss on the cheek, then rode out of the stockade without a backward glance. I felt a sudden sadness as I realized I’d probably never see him again. Even though I had spurned his proposal, he was still my friend, a part of my childhood.
    With a sigh, I swung aboard Red Wind’s bare back. He was twice the size of Nellie and I had to stand on a box to mount, hoping, as I did so, that he was as gentle as my old mare. Patting his short, muscular neck, I shook out the reins and Red Wind stepped out briskly, as if he knew just how terribly important our mission was.
    Not knowing how far we had to go, or if there were any water holes between here and the Cheyenne village, I let the big steed drink his fill at the river crossing. It was peaceful, there by the river. Waiting for Red Wind to finish, I happened to glance down at the ground. My heart skipped a beat as I saw a single white eagle feather lying crumpled in the grass, and next to it an ugly brown stain. It was blood, I thought. Shadow’s blood. He had taught me well in the days we had played together, and I read the signs easily. There, only a few feet to my left, marked the place where he’d been roped and pulled from his horse. The turf was chewed up by running hooves—shod hooves—and I followed the tracks with my eyes until they disappeared in the rock-strewn flats that fell away from the river. My mouth was dry as I reined Red Wind around. The trail was harder to follow on the rocky ground, but not impossible—not when you’d been trained by a Cheyenne warrior.
    Bits of buckskin and an occasional trace of bloody dirt showed where they had dragged Shadow back and forth across the rough terrain, and I flinched as I imagined the sharp stones tearing his shirt to shreds and gouging his flesh. The last rider had dragged Shadow back to the edge of the grass. Signs of a scuffle and traces of blood-soaked ground marked the spot, and in my mind’s eye I could see the violent struggle that must have taken place as Shadow fought back, trying in vain to escape the six white men who held him