Savage Spring (3 page)

He felt, rather than heard, Morning Song next to him. She slipped her hand into his, and they both watched as the snow covered the ground. Tag smiled down into her lovely
face, trying to mask his thoughts from her, but he knew by the sadness in her eyes that he hadn’t succeeded entirely.

“I love you, Morning Song. I always will.”

“Come, let us go home,” she said, taking his hand.

Tag turned and looked at the outline of the tall mountains that separated him from the white world he had once known. Somewhere beyond those mountains was a man living in Tag and Joanna’s home—the food he ate and the clothes he wore were all bought with the Jameses’ money.

Tag knew that after his Aunt Margaret had died Howard Landon had remarried. The woman who was now his wife was none other than Claudia Maxwell, who had always hated Joanna. It bothered him too, that Joanna’s old enemy was living in their home.

Drawing in his breath, he tried to push his thoughts aside. “Come, we will tell the family good night,” he said, leading Morning Song back into Windhawk’s lodge.

The Chinook wind was blowing across the land, bringing with it the warm, dry air from the nearby mountainside. The snow had melted into slush, and although there were dark clouds on the horizon Tag didn’t think it would snow today. Morning Song had been begging Tag to take her for a ride, and he thought this would be a good day since the weather was pleasant.

Tag had learned from experience that the weather could turn cold without any warning, and he didn’t want Morning Song to be exposed to a sudden norther. He decided it would be best to return to the village by early afternoon.

Tag noticed that Morning Song was having trouble mounting her horse because of her advanced stage of pregnancy. He
lifted her up and placed her on the padded saddle, then tucked a blanket about her to keep her warm.

“Today we will not ride far from the village, Morning Song. It is too near the time for the baby to be born, and I would not want to be the one to deliver the child,” he teased her lightly.

“Please, Tag, could we not ride to the foot of the mountains? It has been so long since I have been away from the village,” she pleaded.

He had never been able to deny her anything, so he gave in easily. “Only if you walk the horse, Morning Song. It will be much too dangerous for you to run the animal,” he cautioned like a fretful mother.

Morning Song nodded her agreement. The sun was shining as the two of them rode away from the village, and they both felt carefree and light-hearted. Morning Song had packed some dried meat and berry-cakes, and she hoped she could convince Tag to stay away from the village until nightfall. Soon she would have a baby to look after, and while she looked forward to having Tag’s child, she knew their life would change. She would no longer be able to go with him anytime she wanted, since she would be nursing the baby.

When they crossed the river, Tag pointed out a white-tailed deer to Morning Song. They both halted their horses to watch the doe and her fawn drink from the Milk River.

Today Tag’s mind was clear. He could see happiness reflected in Morning Song’s dark eyes, and it gladdened his heart. How could he ever have allowed his unrest to come between them? He could be happy the rest of his life in making Morning Song happy. What he had found here among the Blackfoot tribe was a good life, and he didn’t want his bitterness to spoil any part of it. He thought of his unborn baby and realized he had everything a man could ask for. No longer would he allow the past to tug at him. Let his uncle have all he had stolen from him. Most probably it wouldn’t ever bring the man true happiness.

Tag realized that his uncle would always be watching and waiting for him to return. He could imagine him unable to
sleep at night, wondering if he and Joanna would one day appear and show him up for the thief he was. Tag would have to find his revenge in knowing he was causing his uncle many sleepless nights.

They rode until midmorning before they reached the foot of the mountains. Tag lifted Morning Song from her horse and held her in his arms.

“Smile and make me happy,” he told her.

She laughed delightedly as he made a silly face for her. Setting her on her feet, he held her against him. “I want always to see a smile on your pretty face, Morning Song. If it is in my power, I will see that you have much to laugh about.”

“Have you no more regrets, my husband?”

“I have no more regrets, my wife.” The baby chose that moment to kick, and Tag felt the movement. “That is our baby telling you that its father will always make the sun shine for its mother.”

Morning Song looked up into Tag’s face. “Will you mind if this baby is a girl?”

“No, I will not mind.”

“My mother says she can tell by the way I am carrying it low, that it will be a girl. I was afraid you would want a son first.”

“I will want it even if it is a girl, but I have one request. She had better have your pretty face and dark hair.”

“I want her to have your eyes, Tag. Would she not be beautiful if she had your eyes?”

At that moment a shot rang out, and Tag turned to look over his shoulder, thinking it would be a hunter beyond the valley. He knew Windhawk would not be pleased if the white man had encroached on Blackfoot lands.

Turning back to Morning Song, he started to take her arm with the intention of pulling her behind a rock formation until he could find out who had fired the shot. He watched in bewilderment as Morning Song seemed to be gasping for breath. Slowly she crumpled to her knees, and that was when Tag saw the dark red stain on the front of her gown!

“My God, Morning Song, you have been shot!” he yelled. Picking her up in his arms, he carried her behind the rocks and held her.

Small whimpering sounds were coming from her throat when she tried to speak. “Don’t talk,” he urged, trying to stem the flow of blood with his hand. In a flash Tag knew that Morning Song was going to die. Tears of grief washed down his face as he watched her lifeblood spill onto a patch of snow, turning it a bright scarlet.

“N…no, Tag, do…not weep…for me. The baby! Save my baby!”

Tag laid his hand on her stomach and could feel the contractions that were tightening her stomach muscles. He could see that the bullet wound was high enough that it had not hit the child. Tag was fighting to put his grief aside to help his wife deliver their baby.

“The baby is fine, Morning Song. Try not to talk…save your strength.”

She reached out her hand and touched his face. “I…must talk, Tag. Do…not grieve for me…go back to the white…world and reclaim…what belongs to you.”

Tag realized it was an effort for her to talk. He tried to hide his grief from her, but he could tell from her her eyes that she knew she was dying.

“P…promise me that you will go back, Tag…Promise me!”

“I will go back, my dearest love. I promise.”

“The…baby comes, my husband. Give her to…Joanna, she will love…”

At that moment a pain ripped through Morning Song’s body, and Tag didn’t know if it was from the bullet wound or from the birth of the child. He watched Morning Star twist as if she were bearing down hard. He wanted to help her, but he didn’t know what to do.

Morning Song gripped his hand so tightly he could feel her nails digging into his skin. He wanted to scream out at the injustice of it all. Someone would pay for what they had
done to her! Why would someone want to hurt sweet, gentle Morning Song who had never harmed anyone? His thoughts were wild in his grief, but he had no time to think, because another pain shot through Morning Song’s body.

“Tag, you will have…to help, the…baby…comes,” she whispered.

He raised her gown and saw that the head of the baby had already appeared. Tears were blinding him so badly that everything was a blur. Taking the small head in his hands, he guided it as it was expelled from Morning Song’s body. Knowing the child could die from exposure, he quickly removed his coat and wrapped the baby in it. Holding the child upward, he heard it take its first breath. The cries from the newborn baby seemed to echo through the mountains and reverberate down into the valley.

“T…Tag, you must cut the cord and bind it tightly so the baby will not bleed to death…do it quickly!” Morning Song whispered urgently since she knew her strength was waning.

Tag was in a daze as he ripped his shirt from his body and cut a strip with his knife. He then cut the cord that attached the baby to its mother and bound it tightly. When that had been accomplished, he laid the baby down and turned all his attention to Morning Song. Lifting her gently in his arms, he cradled her to him.

“I love you, Morning Song—don’t leave me,” he cried as deep sobs tore from his lips.

“Tag, I am so cold…hold me,” Morning Song whispered weakly. She looked upon the grief-stricken face of the man she loved, wishing she could bring him comfort.

“I will hold you forever, my love. I won’t allow you to die!”

“Tag…I…love…yo…”

Tag felt Morning Song go limp in his arms, and he knew she was dead. An agonizing animal cry arose from his throat as he cried out in his grief, “God, don’t take Morning Song! I cannot bear to live without her!”

Looking down into her face, which was still beautiful
even in death, he cradled Morning Song to him while hot tears washed down his cheeks.

Tag was never to know how long he sat there rocking Morning Song in his arms. He couldn’t accept her death—it had come too suddenly! One moment she was happy and laughing, and the next she had been mortally wounded.

Tag was unaware that the baby had ceased crying and the weather was growing colder. Dark clouds had passed over the sun, and it had begun to snow lightly.

Tag was brought back to the present by the sound of approaching riders. He could tell by the sound of their shod horses that it was two white men. Gently laying Morning Song down, he closed her eyes and picked up the baby, laying it beside her. He knew these two white men would be Morning Song’s murderers, and he intended to see that they paid for taking her life!

Touching Morning Song’s face softly, Tag picked up his knife and quickly moved to the side of the rock, waiting until he could see the intruders come into view. He saw them when they emerged from the trees not more than fifty yards away. He could tell by the looks of them that they were buffalo hunters, and his lip curled into a snarl. Even if they had accidentally shot Morning Song, they would still pay with their lives. His eyes glazed with hatred as he patiently waited for them to ride closer.

It didn’t take long for the two men to discover Tag’s and Morning Song’s horses. They halted their mounts, and their voices carried to Tag.

“Where you ’spect they got off to, Gibbs? I know I shot me the girl,” one of them said.

“You weren’t suppose to kill the girl, Walter. Mrs. Landon said she wanted Taggart James dead; she didn’t say nothing about killing anyone else,” one of the men said, looking about for some sign of his prey.

“Ain’t I a good shot? You know ifen I took aim, I got a steady eye and often as not hit what I was aiming at,” his companion
answered as he also searched for some sign of Taggart James.

“Well, you sure missed what you was aiming at this time,” his partner grumbled.

“Look at that blood there on the snow. I bet the Indian gal is dead, or ifen she ain’t, she soon will be.”

“You’re crazy to have killed the Injun. Unless I miss my guess she were a Blackfoot, and ifen that’s the case, we’ll have a hell of a time getting out of these hills alive, Gibbs.”

“What the hell—a dead Injun don’t carry no tales. After we find Taggart James and do away with him, who’s gonna be alive to tell who killed the girl, Walter?”

Tag’s eyes glazed over with hatred. These men had been sent to kill him by Claudia and most probably his Uncle Howard. There had been no reason for them to kill Morning Song! Leaping over the rock, he propelled himself into the air and knocked the man called Gibbs off his horse. Before the startled Gibbs could react, Tag drove his knife into his chest several times to make sure he was dead.

Not pausing to think, he stood up and faced the man who was called Walter. By now, however, Walter had recovered from the shock of seeing his partner killed and swung his rifle around, aiming it at Tag.

“I got me a present for you, Taggart James, and it comes from someone that wants you dead real bad,” Walter said, looking into cold blue eyes that stared back at him unafraid. Walter felt a shiver slide down his spine, and he knew if he didn’t kill this man quickly, he would be as dead as Gibbs was.

Tag leaped toward Walter and Walter squeezed the trigger on his rifle. The bullet ripped through Tag’s shoulder and knocked him to the ground. Tag didn’t feel the pain as much as the sudden weakness that seemed to overwhelm his strength. Trying to get up, he fell to his knees and then onto the ground. He tried to gather the strength to rise again, but his head was spinning, and he knew he was about to lose
consciousness. He wanted to kill the man who had deliberately and wantonly murdered his beloved Morning Song.

Tag shook his head, trying to clear it, and staggered to his feet. He saw that the man was aiming his rifle at him, ready to fire a second time. He didn’t mind dying; after all, Morning Song was dead and it was only right that he join her, but he wished he had the strength to end the life of the man who had killed his wife. He was so weak that it was an effort to stay on his feet. He could do no more than wait for the impact and the second bullet to hit him.

The shot never came! An arrow whizzed through the air and the man fell from his horse, dead. The arrow had pierced his heart, and he died before he even hit the ground.

Windhawk threw down his bow and urged his horse swiftly forward. He jumped from his mount before it came to a halt and knelt down beside Tag. Raising Tag’s head onto his lap, he looked at him, puzzled, wondering how such a thing could have happened.

“Are you badly hurt, Tag?”

“Not me…Morning Song!” Tag said, just before losing consciousness.

Windhawk heard the cry of a baby coming from behind the huge boulder and got slowly to his feet with a feeling of dread. He motioned for his friend, Gray Fox, to take care of Tag while he circled around the rock with his knife drawn. The moment he saw his sister, he knew she was dead. Dropping down on his knees, he touched her cold face. Tears of grief filled his dark eyes as he picked Morning Song’s newborn baby up in his arms and held it closely to him. How could such a thing happen? he wondered wildly. Morning Song had never harmed anyone. Why should she be dead?

It was a sad procession that entered the Blackfoot village a short time later. Windhawk carried his dead sister across his lap, while one of his warriors held the baby, and Gray Fox carried Tag across his horse.

The people gathered around them and sounds of unbelieving
grief echoed through the village. Above it all was heard the cry of a tiny newborn infant.

Morning Song had been well loved by her people, and there was a heavy sadness that hung over the Blackfoot village like a dark cloud.

The sad task of informing Joanna and his mother fell to Windhawk.