It had been a rough trip since Cheyenne, and they’d traveled nearly all day. Despite the scorching heat and the lack of water, it was worth it. She had gained a new friend. Beth seemed to be a caring person, and Anna would hold her kindness close to her heart. She was thrilled with the thought of them possibly being neighbors. She’d never had a friend before, and maybe Anna could be the kind of friend to Beth she herself had needed all these years.
Twisting her hair, she wrung out the water. When she looked up, a wild man stood watching her on the other side of the river.
Her breath caught in her throat.
He stood with a self-assured stance, his legs braced apart and his hands at his sides. A tan breechcloth hung at his bare waist, and his beige, buckskin leggings with fringed flaps emphasized his height. Silver armbands clamped just above his elbows, and black hair with feathers brushed over his shoulders in the slight wind, sending loose strands over his face, half covered in a black mask of paint.
Her heart galloped in her chest. She swallowed hard and waited for him to move or speak. When he did nothing, she forced her gaze from him and turned to see if Al was still at the top of the embankment. He’d already left.
She looked back to the Indian.
He was gone.
~*~
Two days later, Anna trudged behind the wagons again. Despite payment, Al still wouldn’t let her ride with any of the settlers.
After seeing the Indian, she hadn’t been sure if she ought to tell the others. She didn’t want to be responsible for frightening everyone, but in the end she finally did talk to one of the men—not Al.
They had searched high and low for this so-called Indian, only to conclude that she had a wild imagination. Incensed by the memory, she tightened her arms around her carpetbag. Why would she dream up such a thing?
He was just as real as any of them.
To think . . . she had finally seen a real Indian. Papa would have been thrilled. He probably would have tried to befriend the savage. She giggled at the thought.
The sun’s heat bore down on her head as usual, and a tumbleweed brushed against the hem of her dress, mocking her with its spindly limbs and dry branches. Just like the desolate bush, she might blow away, far away over the brown hills of sandy terrain. Hopefully, Beth would soon be allowed to bring her some water.
Dust from the wagons assailed her. If only she could ride with Beth.
A snake scurried across her path, and Anna squealed as it disappeared into a hole.
Watch out for them snakes. They’ll crawl into your boots at night.
Anna could still see the ticket agent in Cheyenne, gnawing on his toothpick and leaning on the counter as he said those words. She had slept with her boots on, and after three days of traveling with these settlers, her feet punished her.
Denver City was just hours away. Surely, a bit of discomfort was worth the trouble in light of that fact.
She kept a comfortable distance between her and the others, not wanting to be in the way. Why must she be a burden to these people too? Two wagons could have fit between her and the one she followed. The ground spun, while the sounds of locusts and other insects buzzed in her ears. Her legs felt heavy, and her feet ached.
Denver City. Almost there. Her new home.
Her head pounded with each step as she chanted the words. The ground spun. The sounds of locusts buzzed in her ears. Her mouth felt sticky and her head ached. If she didn’t get water soon, she might faint. And if she fainted, would anyone notice? She’d never fainted before. What would it be like? She didn’t want to know.
“Lord . . . please . . . I need water.”
Short screams and shouts from all sides snapped Anna to attention. Around them swarmed a colorful parade of Indians.
“Arm yourselves!” Al shouted from his wagon. He aimed his rifle. An Indian fired, and Al’s rifle dropped.
Beth’s screams carried through the air.
None of the other men dared raise their rifles, and no more shots were fired. One man jumped from his wagon, his hands high above his head. Savages bounded onto the wagons, while three others held their weapons on the men. The women and children cried and screamed.
Two Indians galloped toward Anna.
Hugging her carpetbag, she tried to run, but her feet took root and held her to the ground.
Dust and two painted warriors surrounded her in a stunning array of colors. It brought to mind the tulip parades in Holland, with reds, yellows, and blues jumping out at her. The horses tossed their wild heads, and their manes danced with feathers. Paint circled their eyes, handprints waved on their chests, and flashes of lightning streaked across their flanks.
The Indians circled her, sunlight reflecting off their silver armbands. They looked her up and down. Not daring to turn, she felt the gazes of the savages burn into her back. Their torsos, other than a breastplate made of small tubing, were bare and painted. Quivers slung over their backs with rifles at their sides. Would they use their weapons on her?
The screams and cries of the settlers faded into the distance, replaced by the horses’ snorts and the crunching of their hooves. She felt as if the entire world had vanished, and only she and the colorful intruders existed beneath the great big sky.
As they came around again, Anna’s gaze moved daringly to one Indian’s face. Half covered in a black mask of paint, he brought to mind the appearance of a bandit. Only this bandit would likely steal more than her paste jewelry. The mask had a thin, white stripe below it, accentuating the black that covered his eyes. Red stripes of paint slashed across his cheeks and chin as if a knife had taken its pleasure on his face. His bright eyes snagged her attention and held her captive in his fierce gaze.
The man she’d seen on the bank.
Unable to move, all she could do was hold her breath and wait for the Indians to do something, wait as her heart thundered in her chest. The screams of the settlers had diminished to cries. Thankfully, no gunshots had gone off. She didn’t dare look toward the wagons. Fear paralyzed her.
Lord, please keep Beth safe.
The other Indian moved closer. Long, dark braids draped over his shoulders. Feathers protruded from his head like a fan. He circled her, and the pounding in her head beat faster every time he came a little closer. He held a stick with feathers, and when just a foot away, he jammed the stick into Anna’s hair, painfully forcing it loose from its pins.
“Take down,” he said.
Anna dropped her carpetbag. With quivering hands and eyes welling with tears, she untied her small hat and yanked on the pins. Would they scalp her? Hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her back to below her waist. For the first time in her life, shame swept through her for having so much hair. Vanity hoarded all these golden locks, her crown of glory. Greed for this treasure would now cause her demise.
“Running Cloud!” The Indian with the feathered stick straightened and put his fist to his chest. He pointed at Anna. “You! Walks Alone. Gift to White Eagle.” He pointed to the bandit-looking Indian, the one called White Eagle.
The meaning of his words slammed into Anna. She’d never get home.
Running Cloud dropped his feathered stick and dismounted in front of her. Anna found the ability to move and turned to run. He seized her by the hair, jerking her to a stop. He yanked her around and grabbed her arms in a biting grip. She tried to twist away, pushing against his powerful limbs.
White Eagle dismounted and strode toward them. He was much taller and broader than the savage who held her in his clutches.