Free Reckless Heart by Madeline Baker Page B

back to the post. It’s not safe for you to be out here alone.”
    “Don’t be silly,” I scoffed. “I’ve been coming down here alone since I was a little girl.”
    Joshua’s blue eyes were dark with worry as he said, urgently, “You mustn’t go out alone anymore, Hannah. Haven’t you heard? John Sanders was killed last night on his way home from the Tabor place and his little girl was kidnapped.”
    “I didn’t know,” I said tremulously. “Who did it?”
    “Cheyennes, of course,” he answered bitterly. “A dozen or so—judging by the arrows they pulled out of his body.”
    “Poor Mrs. Sanders,” I murmured. “Kathy was their only child. She’ll be all alone, now.”
    My thoughts were glum as we walked back to the trading post. A family burned out. A man killed. A child kidnapped. I couldn’t believe it. The Indians had never bothered us before. Not really. Oh, they’d stolen some stock now and then, but that was about all.
    I wondered suddenly just how close the Cheyenne village was. For some reason I’d always imagined it to be miles and miles away because we rarely saw any Indians around the trading post. Occasionally a hunting party passed within sight of our place, and we caught a brief glimpse of dark brown bodies and feathers as they rode by on their spotted ponies, lance tips glinting brightly in the sunlight. They had seemed colorful and exciting from a distance but now, with news of John Sanders’ death, they loomed ugly and menacing.
    With a start, I realized I knew practically nothing about Indians. I had no idea how they lived, or what they believed in, or what they did for fun, if anything. And while I was at it, I had to admit, if reluctantly, that I knew very little about Shadow; only that he was nineteen or twenty and that his mother had died when he was very young. Oh, but I knew he loved me and I loved him, and what else mattered, anyway?
    When we reached the trading post, I bid Josh goodbye and went to my room to wait for Shadow. Looking out my window, I found myself thinking of John Sanders. Why had the Indians killed him? I remembered the night I had caught Mr. and Mrs. Sanders kissing on the porch, and the way Mr. Sanders liked to carry Kathy on his shoulder, pretending she was a princess. Depressed by my thoughts, I went downstairs to help Pa in the store. It was a busy time of day, and waiting on customers kept my mind off Mr. Sanders’ death. Every time the door opened, I expected it to be Shadow. But he didn’t come that day.
     
    The funeral was the next day. Everybody in the valley turned out, dressed in their best, for John Sanders had been liked and respected by one and all. It was a somber group that stood at the grave site—the first grave in Bear Valley. The Indian attack had left everyone a little nervous, and I noticed the men were all carrying rifles and the women kept their children close at hand.
    Since we had no preacher, Pa read over the grave, using the 23rd Psalm and John Chapter 11, for his text. Many of the women wept as Pa read, “‘I am the resurrection and the life, he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live…’”
    Florence Sanders stood beside my mother, her face white as paper, her eyes blank. She never shed a tear, nor spoke a word. I don’t think she even knew what was going on.
    When the services were over, Mrs. Sanders went home with the Walkers.
    Shadow did not come that day, either.
     
    Wednesday morning a half-dozen grim-faced men rode into the trading post, led by Saul Green and Jed Tabor. “Mornin’, Sam,” Mr. Green said curtly.
    “Mornin’,” Pa replied. “What brings you men out so early?”
    “We’re going after them redskins,” Saul declared vehemently. “We don’t aim to let John’s death go unavenged.”
    “That’s right,” Jed Tabor agreed. “We’re going after the bastards. Show ‘em they can’t go around killing a white man and stealing his youngun!”
    “Yeah,” Charlie Bailey