The Preacher's Bride (Brides of Simpson Creek) (23 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

G
il swallowed hard. He had known he would be fighting for Faith’s freedom—now he was fighting for her very life.

He shifted his gaze from Makes Healing to Faith, and saw that even though she was very pale, her eyes met his steadily. “It’s all right, Gil. If the worst happens and you die, I wouldn’t want to live anyhow.”

He winced.
Lord, I’m a preacher, not a fighter. Couldn’t the odds be more in our favor?

Gil turned back to Makes Healing. “When?”

“The fight is to take place when the sun is at its highest point,” Makes Healing said.

“Will we be using weapons or is this a bare-knuckle fight?” Gil asked, then wondered why he bothered. It wasn’t as if he was good with any weapon.

Makes Healing pulled a long-bladed knife from the sheath at his waist and proffered it. “I would be honored if you would use mine. I have said a blessing over it, for I hope for your victory. Black Coyote Heart does not follow the way of peace that the chief and I would prefer. His spirit is evil and full of hate.”

“The honor is mine, Makes Healing,” Gil said. “Thank you.” If only he’d done more with a knife than just some whittling as a boy. He’d known men in the army, during the war, who could throw a knife with deadly accuracy and were lethal in a hand-to-hand knife fight, but he hadn’t been one of them.

“You will have until the sun is high to prepare your spirit,” Makes Healing said. “But you must not leave the tepee.”

It would have to be a time to pray
and
say all the things to Faith he’d been holding back for so long, all the endearments he could think of until they met again in Heaven.

The moment the medicine man left the tepee, Faith flew to his arms. He’d never dreamed their first kiss would take place inside a tepee, with red men eager to kill them surrounding it. But the moment Faith’s lips touched his he forgot all that and concentrated on the sweetness of them, on the warmth of her, the steadfast beat of her heart.

“I love you, Gil,” she said, when they finally drew apart. “I always have, even when I thought I had no right to. When this is over, I want to be your wife just as soon as we can possibly get married.”

He could see her faith in him shining from her eyes and wished he deserved such faith and trust in his ability.

“I love you, too, Faith,’ he said. “With all my heart. And if God gives us the victory, that’s a request I’ll gladly fulfill.”

They spent the rest of the time on their knees, holding hands and praying for that victory.

* * *

At noon, they were led out to the middle of the camp. The entire tribe lined the open space, whooping and catcalling at them. From somewhere near the chief’s tent, a drummer kept a steady beat on a tom-tom. Everyone seemed to be wearing their best, Faith observed as they tied her to the post once again—beaded buckskins and moccasins, their hair black and flowing, feathers in the scalp locks of the young men. The young braves who had ridden with Black Coyote Heart jeered as Gil took his place in the center of the open space. The women, especially the younger ones, looked at Faith with implacable hard eyes.

She spotted Runs Like a Deer standing at his father’s side next to the chief. He looked worried, but when he noticed her looking at him, he gave her a hopeful smile.

Her heart was touched despite the danger she and Gil faced. No wonder the man she loved had wanted to protect this boy.

Gil waited in the open space, his face resolute. He had told her he would not look at her once the fight began, and asked her to do her best not to cry out. He would need every bit of concentration he possessed.

Black Coyote Heart came out of a nearby tepee and strode toward the circle then. The young braves cheered and lifted tomahawks and lances into the air.

He had painted his face with a combination of red, black and white paint so he looked even more hideous than he had the day she had been seized on the road from Milly’s ranch. He darted a scornful glance at Gil, then sidled up to the pole Faith was bound to and favored her with a leer that turned her blood instantly to ice. He leaned closer, so close she could smell his sweat, mixed with the pungent tang of the buffalo grease in his hair. With a fiendish laugh, he drew his knife with painstaking slowness from its sheath and slid it along her throat from one ear to the other, not so hard that it would draw blood, but leaving her with no doubt as to how eager he was to actually cut her throat.

He turned and pointed at Gil, then took his knife and rolled the flat of the blade along his own scalp. The message was clear.

She tried her best to suppress a shudder.
Ignore him, Gil. He’s trying to rattle you.
The Indian’s gesture had tightened Gil’s jaw, she noted, but he merely shifted his gaze to the chief, who stood and appeared to be giving instructions to the combatants. The medicine man translated for Gil, but Faith couldn’t hear what he said.

Black Coyote Heart made a ceremony of removing his buckskin shirt, tossing it to one of his warrior friends among the onlookers. Gil merely rolled up the sleeves of what remained of his dusty, stained shirt.

Lord, I believe You can give Gil the victory if it is Your will. Please, Lord, save us!

The chief held up his hand. Both men tensed and the drumbeat sped up. Then suddenly the chief let his arm fall and the battle was on.

Quick as a striking snake, Black Coyote Heart lunged at Gil, jabbing at his left forearm, his knife leaving a long gash. He shouted and raised a triumphant fist at achieving the first “coup,” and his warriors cheered.

The sight of the crimson rivulet running down Gil’s skin sent waves of nausea churning Faith’s stomach, but he merely wiped his arm on his pants and kept his eye on the Comanche, dancing out of reach when the Comanche lunged again.

Jeers erupted from the crowd as they saw Gil retreat, but Faith saw his strategy. He was less powerfully built than the Comanche, but that made him more agile.

The Indian shouted something at Gil. Makes Healing called a translation—“He says if you give up now, he will kill you both quickly and not make you suffer. Do not believe him, Gil Chadwick!”

The next time Black Coyote Heart sprang at him, he waited till the last possible moment before jumping aside, then raked his knife down the Indian’s right arm.

The Comanche bellowed in rage, his eyes blazing with hatred. Gil had cut deeper than he had, and now the blood flowed over the hand that held his knife, no doubt making the rawhide-thong-wrapped haft slippery. The throng murmured uneasily, but Faith thought she detected a measure of admiration for Gil, too.

Black Coyote Heart bared his teeth and threw himself at Gil, but Gil feinted just in time. The Indian’s knife, however, managed to tear a red stripe down Gil’s ribs—not deep, but long.

Faith closed her eyes as lightheadedness threatened her consciousness.
Give him strength, Lord, don’t let him get dizzy from loss of blood!

When she opened her eyes, Gil was once more crouched, readying himself for the savage’s next move, seemingly oblivious to the blood that dripped into the dust. The air was full of the sound of the men’s harsh breathing now and the smell of sweat and blood.

The Indian snarled, apparently ready to stop playing with Gil, and sprang at him. This time Gil wasn’t able to dance out of his grasp, and the two went down in a tangle of red and white skin.

She heard a thud as Gil got in a punch, and used the moment that his opponent was stunned to roll out of his grasp. He jumped to the balls of his feet and waited.

Black Coyote Heart spat out a tooth, leaving a trickle of red dripping down his jaw, then charged Gil like a maddened bull. Gil let him come, then danced aside again, but reached out and grabbed hold of the brave’s flying black hair, yanking him back.

The Comanche nearly lost his balance on ground that was now slippery with both men’s blood, but recovered and threw himself at Gil. Once again Gil wasn’t able to dodge and the two grappled with each other. Then Black Coyote Heart managed to hook a leg around Gil’s and both men went down, the Comanche falling heavily on Gil.

Faith saw a knife skid away from the two men—
but whose?
It didn’t matter, for now the two men struggled for sole possession of the one knife between them.

Now Gil was on top, but was he losing his grip on the knife? The arm that Black Coyote Heart had lacerated fell away from the hilt.

Faith’s heart quailed within her. She shut her eyes, afraid to see him lose the fight and die at the hand of the murderous Indian.

But no, he’d only pretended to falter to distract his enemy and land a haymaker to his opponent’s jaw. Then he slammed a fist down on each of the Indian’s wrists in turn, and Faith heard bones crack. She saw the big Comanche’s arms and limbs flail and then grow limp and his eyes rolled back in his head.

Gil rolled out off Black Coyote Heart, gasping for breath, but keeping a wary eye on the fallen Indian.

“Kill him, Gil Chadwick,” Makes Healing said. “You are the victor. It is your right.”

“It is not right for me as a man of God,” he panted, “for our holy book says ‘Thou shall not kill.’”

Black Coyote Heart was stirring now, but with two broken wrists, he could only stare dully at Gil. He muttered something, then let his head fall back limply in the dust.

Makes Healing said, “He begs you to kill him. He is disgraced by losing to a white man and will have to be fed like a small child until his bones heal.”

“I won’t kill him,” Gil said. “My God gave me the strength to achieve the victory, but all I want is to take my woman—” he darted a glance at Faith, and winked “—back to our people.”

The chief raised his feather-trimmed lance and said something.

“He says you would make a good Comanche if you ever wanted to join the tribe,” Makes Healing said. “And he will grant you your wish to leave with your woman in peace.”

“Thank you,” Gil said as the medicine man and his son strode over and began to untie Faith. As soon as Faith was free, Gil took her in his arms and kissed her. The Comanches seemed to find this as much a cause for war whoops as they had the combat of a few minutes ago.

After Gil had bathed and his wounds had been dressed, they were fed a victor’s dinner of roasted antelope, boiled corn and pemmican. Then their horses were brought around. Makes Healing offered her a spotted Indian pony in trade for Faith’s swaybacked mare, saying the bony creature was not a worthy mount for her. The pony was a pretty horse, but Faith explained she had to return the rented mare to the liveryman who owned her. She was rather afraid that the Comanches would have made a meal of the mare.

“May your wife-to-be give you many sons,” the medicine man said, and Runs Like a Deer grinned up at them.

Faith felt herself blushing, but she managed to smile back at the boy.

“Thank you. Go with God,” Gil said then, his voice sober. He added, “Makes Healing, you understand we will not be able to keep it secret among our people what has happened to us as I did before. We have been gone too long, and Faith’s people have been worried about her. They will demand to know where we have been.”

“Do not worry about us,” Makes Healing said with a half smile. “Even if they could find this place, we will be gone from here by the next dawn. The white eyes will not be able to find us. Many Coups will guide you to the road,” he added as one of the young braves rode forward on a gray horse. “You can trust him, for he will obey the chief. Black Coyote Heart’s leadership of the young braves has been broken.”

Once they’d reached the road and their Comanche escort had ridden back into the hills, Faith and Gil talked about all that had happened.

“I was so afraid when you were fighting,” Faith said. “But I just kept on praying.”

“I’m sure it made all the difference, because I’m no fighter,” Gil said. “I don’t mind saying I had more than a few anxious moments myself. Every time I thought Black Coyote Heart was about to gain the upper hand and end my life, though, I got this sudden surge of strength from out of nowhere.”

“From Heaven,” Faith smilingly corrected him.

Then Gil told her about the vow he’d made to confess, first to his father, then in front of the church what had happened when he was away at seminary, how he’d gone astray and gotten involved with the ungodly Suellen, only to lose her and their baby.

“We’ll talk to them together,” Faith said. “I think I have some confessing to do, too, about living a false Christian life—and some testifying about how the Lord brought my faith back and saved both of us from death.”

Gil smiled at her. “Faith Bennett, you’re going to make a perfect preacher’s wife. I love you.”

“And I love you.”

Then, they stopped their horses for a long, heartfelt kiss.

* * *

There was a round of applause in Simpson Creek Church as Gil and Faith finished their confessions the next Sunday morning. They began to step back toward their places next to her parents and Reverend Chadwick in the front pew so that the song leader could lead the final hymn, but then her father stood and made a motion for the couple to stay by the pulpit.

“Reckon we’ve all had some big sins at one time or another to own up to. I think I speak for everyone when I say, Reverend Gil, that we think your shortcomings have made you a wiser man today. I have a sin to come clean about, too. There was a time when I was swamped by my grief at losing our boy,” he said, looking at his wife, “and I let our daughter get the mistaken notion that she wasn’t important to me. Maybe that’s why she lost her faith for a time, because her earthly father was so weak he couldn’t help her see how her Heavenly Father never stopped caring about her. I regret that, Faith, and I hope I’ve begun to show you just how proud of you I truly am. I’d like to have you continue to help with the newspaper after you marry, just as long as you want to. You’ve picked a good man to wed, Faith, and I’ll be proud to call him son,” he added, grinning at Gil.

“Oh, Papa,” Faith managed to say before giving way to happy tears. Her father closed the distance between the front pew and pulpit in a few quick strides, and embraced both his daughter and his future son-in-law.