Page 72 of Red Hawk's Woman

He pressed a kiss to her lips, following it with the words, “Kitsikakomimmo. For the moment, nothing changes that.”

Effie didn’t know what to say. On one hand, she was glad. On the other, she was…confused.

He sat up, then looked down on her. “Poohsapoot, let us leave this bad talk behind us and take another swim, this time to awaken us, that we might finish our scouting this night. We still have much to do.”

“All right. You are not angry at me?”

“Saa, disappointed, perhaps, but not angry. You have the right to say yes or no. ’Tis my mistake. You see, I thought you had said yes.”

He held out a hand to help her up, then scooting his arm around her waist, he brought her right up against him. He sighed deeply. “Let us spend the remainder of this night as a married couple. If this is all we are to have, then let us indulge ourselves. Do you agree?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “I don’t see any harm in doing this.”

“And much pleasure.”

She smiled. “All right, then.”

“Soka’pii. I am glad that in this, it is settled…for the moment.”

The scent of fired guns lingered in the air, there in the meadow where they had left Effie’s wagons. Worse, though dawn fast approached, no birds sang here.

Something was wrong.

It was still dark, but the eastern sky was taking on the dull color of silver—a sign of the sun starting to rise into the early-morning atmosphere. Soon, Red Hawk and Effie would be more than visible to the well-trained eye of the scout, if one were about.

Turning back toward Effie, Red Hawk said, “I must investigate. You stay here. Hear me, you are not to move, no matter what cause is given you, nor are you to cry out, not even in warning. Do you understand?”

“Yes, but what’s wrong?”

“I do not know. I only know something is wrong. Do not disobey me. Stay here. Hide well.”

She nodded.

Bending toward her, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Know always that I love you.”

She laid her hand atop his. “I too.”

He nodded solemnly, pressed her hand in acknowledgment and then set off, crawling through the growth and bushes that occasioned the open spaces of the prairie.

Stealthily, Red Hawk approached the meadow where they had left the wagons. He smelled no smoke there; he heard no voices. And yet, the evidence that something had happened here was unmistakable.

He crept up to the spot where Henry Smith should have been standing lookout.

No one was there.

This was a bad sign. A very bad omen, indeed.

Both wagons were turned onto their sides. Wheels were broken, the white canvas coverings were torn, shovels, trowels, papers, clothes and other equipment were scattered over the ground. But he could see no traces of the people.

Stealing carefully around the camp, he looked in vain for clues of an enemy, a scout, renegade whites, anything. There was none to be found. There should have been something.

Slowly, he stole into their former camp. It was a mess. Papers were everywhere, some blowing haphazardly in the wind, others caught on bushes. Indiscriminately, he picked up one, but since there was nothing to be found there, he studied what tracks and prints were left instead.

He could make no sense of this. Bending down, he fingered a particular imprint on the ground. It was a track made by one of the men. Because of its deep indentation, as well as the fact that the feet were turned out, he recognized the footprint as belonging to the older man, John Owens. Due to the erratic nature of the print, he knew the man had been frightened. He had also run away.

Looking up, Red Hawk took note of the direction taken, then studied more of the clues left. Here were the tracks of the two women, their two husbands out in front of them, clearly protecting them.

But from what?