Page 16 of Shoshone Sun

“But what if…” Susan stuttered.

“In the unlikely case they do come, we’ll be ready, no matter what happens.”

Susan shook her head. “We must give him up to them if they come here! Why risk our lives for this unknown man?”

“Because he’s a human being,” Jane responded.

“We know nothing about him!” Susan insisted. “What if they were after him because he killed one of their tribe members, or raped a woman of their tribe, or kidnapped— ”

Jane cut her off. “We will ask him when he awakes. But it’s most likely they attacked him simply because the Shoshone and the Blackfoot are fighting over territory right now.”

“But you don’t know that for sure!” Susan insisted. “He could be dangerous!”

“Settle down,” Jane said, trying to calm her sister. “Everything will be fine.” She got to her feet and hugged her sister. Susan seemed to relax somewhat in her arms, but not completely. Jane hoped and prayed she would remain calm.

The minutes dragged on like hours. Peter had not returned, and the storm outside continued to intensify. Snow was now piling high around the cabin, and the howling wind seemed to press in from every direction. Jane kept the fire stoked, hoping it would give them enough warmth through the night.

But to Susan, the silence outside felt like a ticking clock, counting down the moments until disaster reached their doorstep.

Chapter Nine: The Stranger’s Awakening

- Peter Jacobs Land Claim, 1866

Ninety miles west of Fort Laramie-

The snowstorm continued to rage through the night. The winds howled like wolves at the edges of the earth, sending their icy breath through the cracks of the cabin. Snow piled high against the door, and the world outside seemed to vanish beneath a blanket of white. The darkness inside the cabin pressed in on all sides, interrupted only by the crackle and pop of the fire. The warmth was a fragile thing, held in place by the steady efforts of Jane, who kept the fire fed with fresh fuel.

The Shoshone brave, still unconscious, lay before the fireplace, his breathing slow but steady. Jane had not left his side, except to feed the fire, since Peter had gone out to keep watch. Her hands, though trembling with the cold, never left him. She wiped his brow, stroked his hair, and kept the fire burning as though by sheer will alone. The firelight flickered on his face, casting long shadows that danced like ghosts on the walls.

Susan’s thoughts kept wandering back to the man on the floor. Every so often, she would steal a glance at the wounded Indian, and each time, her stomach twisted. Though she knew Peter was only helping the man out of common decency, her fear had not diminished. It had grown, in fact—tangled with a dread she couldn’t put words to, a feeling that the worst was still to come.

And where was Peter? Was he all right? It was as if the world around her had become a series of faint echoes, distant and muffled by the storm. Her mind had fixed itself on one thought:What if they come for him?

The hours dragged by, and Petey—blessedly unaware of the tension around him—was now asleep, bundled in the corner on his small bed, clutching his favorite ragdoll. The child’s soft and even breathing filled the silence, a small comfort amidst the uncertainty.

Jane stood up from her vigil, stretching her stiff legs. Her eyes though kept flickering back to the brave’s face. His breath had become steadier and stronger. There was a chance he might live—if they could keep him warm and if infection didn’t set in. In her mind, she could still feel the faint thrum of his pulse beneath her fingertips, but there was something else too. A heat, almost an electric pulse, a strange pull she couldn’t ignore.

“Susan,” Jane said softly, her voice almost too quiet against the wind’s howl. “I’m going to check the bandages. He might wake soon.”

Susan looked up from the sweater she was knitting. “I don’t know why you’re still fussing over that savage. You’ve done enough. Let him go.”

“He’s a human being, Susan,” Jane said firmly. “Let me help him.”

Susan looked down, biting her lip, her eyes wide and her expression torn. “I know you’re trying to help him, Jane, but you’re not thinking of what could happen if the Blackfoot come for him. They might kill us all for coming to his aid. Peter might be willing to protect us, but you can’t expect him to stand up against an entire war party!”

Jane had to admit that was true. “I do realize that. But it’s not likely that the Blackfoot are coming,” she responded, her voice firm with something Susan couldn’t quite place. “He could die from his wound, Susan. Or he could survive, and he deserves our help to live.”

Susan swallowed hard. “And what if he’s a bad man, Jane? What if he did something terrible?”

“I don’t think he did. But if he did, we’ll deal with it. We can’t condemn him without knowing the facts.”

Susan closed her eyes, and Jane could see the conflict writhing inside her sister, and that Susan’s fear was winning that conflict. Jane didn’t blame her though; her sister had lived with this fear for a long time. It had been ingrained into her since childhood—the tales of savage Indians, of raids, scalping’s, and bloodshed. But Jane knew full well that not every man was the same, and that went equally for Indian men.

With a small shake of her head, Susan muttered, “I won’t be part of this. I just won’t.”

Jane said nothing. She returned to the brave’s side and checked his bandages again, her fingers gentle as she touched the wound. The bleeding had slowed to a trickle, but the edges of the wound were starting to turn an angry red. She sighed, knowing that if infection set in, it could kill him.

Her fingers brushed against the man’s skin again, lingering this time. The heat of his body seeped into her own, and she swallowed a sudden surge of emotion that startled her. He had the kind of presence about him that unsettled her, made her feel both drawn to him and wary of that pull.

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