Free Prairie Wife by Cheryl St.john Page A

Indians come after us?" a wide-eyed Eden
asked Sam as he fed the smoldering fire.
    "Nah, they caused what trouble they set out to do and are
probably long gone."
    "I think we're fortunate to be alive," a man by the name
of Barnett said. He picked up a stick and lit a cigar. "I've heard stories
about the Indians out here in the territories."
    "Some of those stories are probably true," Amy told
them. "But what you don't hear are the counts of Army regiments wiping out
entire villages of Sioux and Cheyenne, women and children included. The bands
are protecting themselves and their hunting grounds the only way they know
how."
    "Did a party attack the train or the passengers?" Sam
asked.
    "I call derailing tons of steel an attack," Barnett
replied.
    William Hunter spoke up. "We saw them from a distance only.
They sat on horseback and observed our predicament. I suppose they think
they're discouraging travel by rails."
    "I suppose they do," Amy said. "But the Army seems
determined to drive them away. This incident will no doubt cause more regiments
to be assigned to the area."
    "Is your station safe from attacks?" Eden asked.
    "We've never had trouble with the Sioux or the Cheyenne who
live nearby," Amy answered. "In fact we've often traded with them.
More so right after the war, before the Army refocused its attention on getting
rid of all Indians."
    Amy didn't care if she sounded defensive. People coming west had a
right to know the truth. The subject was dropped, but she didn't know if their
minds were set at ease. She guessed the new pot of coffee had been boiling long
enough and used a flour sack to remove it from the fire.
    Eden was sitting hunched beside the fire with the rest of the
bedraggled travelers, her injured foot propped on a valise. She had long dark
eyelashes, and a way of speaking with a charming little pout. "Is Nebraska
always this miserable?"
    "You never know about the weather in these parts, Miss
Sullivan," Sam replied. "The ground can sure use the rain,
though."
    "Are you a farmer?" she asked.
    "No, but I have a small orchard to fulfill my homestead
agreement," he told her.
    "What kind of trees?"
    "Mostly apple. My Amy here makes the best apple pie this side
of the Divide."
    "Where were you traveling, Miss Sullivan?" Amy asked.
    "I'm on my way to look after my sister's children. She's been
sick."
    "I'm sorry to hear that. Where does she live?"
    "Denver City."
    Amy handed her a cup of coffee. "You won't have that much
farther to travel after your foot's had a chance to heal."
    "What's your town like?" Eden asked.
    "Well, it's not much of a town, really. There's a restaurant
down the road a way. We run the stage station, trade horses and do any smithing
that's called for."
    "Smithing?"
    "Blacksmith. One of our men works steel for horseshoes and
wheels, tools and such."
    "Oh, so there are others at your station?"
    "Yes, we're the only station with beds for the night, so we
get a prime share of business."
    "So you have a hotel?"
    "Not a hotel." Amy glanced at her father, and they
shared a grin. "More like a boardinghouse. There's a mercantile not far
away. Our mail and shipments are delivered right to our door, so we don't want
for much."
    Eden wrinkled her nose in a delicate grimace. "What is that
smell?"
    "Buffalo chips, Miss Sullivan," Sam replied.
"They're ideal for fire when they're dry, but this rain tends to soften
'em up."
    Eden brought her blanket up over her nose. "I believe I'd
like to lie down now. Do you mind, Mr. Burnham?"
    "Not at all." Sam picked up the young woman and carried
her to one of the wagons, under which he and Amy had laid out a pallet of
blankets.
    William Hunter accepted a cup of coffee from Amy and sat cradling
his injured arm. "It's kind of you to come for us, Miss Burnham."
    "It's Mrs. Shelby," she corrected him.
    "Sorry, I was thinking since you were Mr. Burnham's daughter
that your name was the same."
    "That's all right. My husband and father are partners. Shelby
Station belongs