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Authors: Georgina Gentry

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BOOK: To Tame A Rebel
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Twilight snapped the reins, and the horse started off at a trot. She hated the rough ride for the Indian girl, but it couldn't be helped. The late afternoon was shadowy across the frozen prairie as they headed for the river.
They reached the river at sundown. Mass confusion reigned as the fleeing Indians tried to cross the river the whites called the Arkansas. Children cried, and loose dogs ran about barking while sheep baaed and cattle milled. Yellow Jacket shook his head and shouted to Twilight. “We've got to cross the river or be slaughtered right here. Can you take the buggy across?”
Twilight touched her chest in dismay. The river looked deep and dark, with a swift current. As she watched, another light wagon started across. The Indian driving it cracked his whip and yelled at the horses. The horses hesitated, not wanting to brave the current, then plunged in. Immediately, the wagon began to float, then overturned, dumping people into the swift, cold stream. Women screamed and others waded in to rescue them as the driver fought to right the wagon. The horses broke free and headed for the far shore, but the driver and the wagon were swept away and were seen no more.
Yellow Jacket rode up and down the bank, yelling to people, encouraging them to cross. The gunfire of the advancing Confederates grew even louder. The Creeks and the others trapped on the bank looked back toward the sound of the advancing army, then toward the distant shore. To be trapped here on this side, with the river behind them, was a death sentence, and they knew it. More and more of the people drove their cattle and goats into the water or rode horses into the river, fighting to reach the other side. Some of them were swept away and lost.
Twilight looked at the Creek girl next to her. The girl clutched her baby and looked at the water with fearful eyes. Twilight had faced more danger in the past couple of days than she ever had in her whole sheltered life. She drove up to the edge of the water and hesitated. If the buggy overturned, the young mother and her baby didn't stand a chance.
Yellow Jacket galloped up. “Here, I'll help you.” He rode out into the water, reached to grab her horse's bridle, led it deeper. “Hang on!” he yelled at Twilight. “The buggy will float if you can stay with it.”
Twilight reached over and put her arm around the young Indian woman. “We're ready.”
Yellow Jacket nodded and forced her horse deeper into the river. Twilight had a helpless feeling as the buggy began to float. She watched Yellow Jacket's strong arm hanging onto her horse to keep it from panicking and heading back to shore. Now both horses were swimming strongly. The cold water came up in the buggy, around her ankles, and Twilight gasped at the cold. It was numbing and icy. Anyone who was drenched would probably freeze to death before they could be dried out.
It seemed like an eternity that they fought the river, the buggy threatening to overturn or be swept away at any moment, but finally, she felt her horse regain its footing and the buggy wheels hit ground. Then Yellow Jacket was leading it up the other side. He was drenched and shivering.
“Find shelter out of the wind,” he gasped. “I think we'll have to fight rebels there at Round Mountain.” He nodded toward the low profile of the hill nearby. Now he wheeled his horse and headed back into the water.
“Where are you going?” Twilight called.
“I've got to help hold that bank until we can get all our people across; otherwise, they'll be slaughtered.”
“You'll be killed!” Suddenly Twilight was very much afraid of losing him.
He shrugged and plunged back into the racing water. “Get out of sight!” he shouted back.
Twilight watched him reenter the river, her heart in her throat. It was growing dusky dark, and if they didn't get the hundreds of stragglers across soon, they'd have to wait until morning, and by then the Confederates would be here. Women and children would be slaughtered if the rebels overtook them. She looked over at her sleeping namesake with her tiny face and dark hair, and decided she would do whatever it took to aid these helpless people in reaching Kansas and safety.
Behind them, the noise and the echo of gunfire increased. Twilight urged her horse to move faster. Once she would have welcomed being overtaken by her own side, but now she was afraid the gray-clad soldiers might shoot first and ask questions later.
Twilight looked at the weapons the warriors carried as they galloped back across the river to help Yellow Jacket and Smoke. Some of them were well mounted, some afoot. None had warm enough clothing. Few besides Yellow Jacket carried good weapons. Most had old hunting rifles or shotguns; a few were armed only with bows and arrows, knives, and lances.
Twilight stared after them, trying to decide what to do next. Right now, she decided, her main responsibility was to get the woman and baby in her buggy out of the line of fire. The mountain ahead of her was small. Off to one side, the women and children were heading for the safety of the brush and rocks. Twilight slapped her horse with the reins and joined them.
 
 
Just before he plunged into the river, Yellow Jacket turned in his saddle to glance back at the white woman and her buggy. She appealed to him as a female, and, too, she might make a good bargaining chip if needed. He must think of her that way, as an object, and stop thinking of her as a desirable woman.
He drew up and addressed his men. “You have your orders from old Opothleyahola. We are badly outnumbered, but perhaps by ambush, we can even the score. Are you ready to die for the good of our people?”
The men set up a shout of defiance, and Yellow Jacket nodded. “We go, then.”
With him in the lead, his small war party topped the ridge and saw a line of gray-clad men coming through the brush ahead of them. Yellow Jacket said a small prayer to the Master of Breath and then charged forward, yelling a war cry. Behind him, his men hurled insults and challenges as they rushed forward. The rebels looked startled for a moment, then dropped to one knee and began to fire as their cavalry surged around them, galloping toward the war party.
Yellow Jacket drew in sharply, causing his fine horse to rear. He felt shells whiz past him as the rebels rushed forward. He must not panic and flee. He and his men must wait until the enemy was almost upon them, then turn and lead the unsuspecting gray line back to where the ambush awaited. He could hear the rebels calling to each other as they ran, and behind him he heard a cry as one of his own warriors was shot from his saddle. The smell of gunpowder burned his nose, and the smoke from the weapons made the cold dusk hazy, so that at times he could barely make out the gray-clad men riding toward him.
“Now!” He wheeled his horse as the rebel cavalry rode so close that he could almost make out the color of the white men's eyes. “Now, brave men, make them follow us!” He put the spurs to his horse, as did the others, and turned to ride toward the mountain, forcing the unsuspecting cavalry to chase them. Near him, an old friend cried out and fell from his horse, wounded. Yellow Jacket hesitated. His soul told him to ride back, try to rescue his friend, but there was not time unless he sacrificed his mission. He had been given his orders.
Yelling to his braves to stay just ahead of the rebel cavalry, Yellow Jacket kept riding. When he glanced back, he saw a rebel shoot the helpless brave who had fallen. Yellow Jacket's anger made him give a defiant shout. Now he could feel the bullets whizzing past him, hear the labored breathing of the rebel horses. Were they going to make it or would the cavalry commander realize he was being led into an ambush and pull back?
He looked behind him. The commander was the young Captain Wellsley. The boy would be too green to know what was happening. Only a few more yards, and he and his braves would reach safety, where the warriors hid in ambush on either side of the little gully up ahead. It seemed like a million miles to that draw, and he was not sure any of them was going to make it. Behind him, he heard a rebel rider shout a warning, but when Yellow Jacket looked back, the captain was riding pell-mell ahead, too green to realize that he and his little patrol of cavalry were riding right into the heart of the Indian ambush. He glanced to one side, seeing the last rays of the dying sun glinting off the hidden guns.
“Now!” Yellow Jacket shouted, and wheeled his horse to face the oncoming cavalry even as the guns hidden in the draw opened up with a roar.
Chapter 9
In confusion, Captain Wellsley reined in his rearing bay horse. A moment ago, he and his cavalry unit had been chasing down a ragtag band of savages, led by that big warrior he'd recognized as Yellow Jacket. As he galloped after the fleeing Indians, he imagined the parade back in Austin, his proud, beaming mother watching as he accepted his medal and promotion. Now all hell had broken loose, with rifle fire blazing from behind every shrub and rock. The savages he'd been chasing had disappeared into thin air or had turned their horses, charging him instead of fleeing. Around him, men shouted and screamed as they went down; horses neighed and bolted, dragging riders.
“Ambush!” someone shouted. “Ambush!”
Ambush, yes, that was it. Wellsley hadn't thought the savages would know such battle tactics. “Take cover, men!” he shouted, dismounting his own rearing horse.
Near him, a cavalry mount went down, trapping a rider beneath it. The man screamed as the half ton of horse fell on him.
Oh, God, what to do next?
Captain Wellsley suddenly couldn't remember anything they'd taught him at West Point, and he'd lost his hat. The noise deafened him as his horse neighed and reared and he hung on to the reins.
A man afoot is a dead man.
It took all his strength to hold the horse and tie it to a sturdy bush. The wind felt icy cold against his pale face as the sun sank on the horizon.
Where were the rest of the Texas troops and the rebel Indians? They'd had such superior numbers, but now his men were being shot to pieces after being stupid enough to fall for the oldest trick in the world.
Ambush.
He wouldn't get a medal; he was going to lose his silver bars and be drummed out of the army in disgrace.
What will Mother say?
At least no one could say he didn't die bravely. Captain Wellsley grabbed the rifle from his saddle and crouched down behind a boulder. He aimed and fired, taking out a warrior who had raised his head too high. What had happened to that escaping group of savages he'd been chasing? They were nowhere in sight, having melted into the landscape, and were now firing back at him. Around him, his Confederate cavalry fell groaning in the bloody snow. In the distant twilight, he saw gray-clad Texas troops coming, but they weren't going to get here in time.
His sergeant grabbed his shoulder, shook him back to reality. “Sir, we're in trouble here;, we should retreat.”
“Retreat? Gallant Confederates? What will people say?”
The old sergeant blinked. “Better to retreat than to lose all our men, sir.”
Wellsley looked about, uncertain. Yes, of course the sergeant was right. Only he wouldn't call it “retreat”; he'd call it regrouping. “Very well, Sergeant,” he shouted over the gunfire, “sound recall!”
In a split second, the bugle rang out loud and clear over the gunfire, and the gray-clad men began to retreat. Some of them had lost their horses and were afoot; others, badly wounded, died in a hail of gunfire as they tried to limp away.
Captain Wellsley swung up on his horse, feeling the bullets whiz past him in the dark and the cold. He was terrified. As for Mrs. Dumont, he'd made a gallant effort to rescue her, if indeed she was still alive, and he had failed. With his head hanging in humiliation, he turned his horse to gallop back to the advancing rebels, knowing it was a complete rout. He'd lost most of his command to a clever ambush from a bunch of poorly armed savages.
Behind him, Yellow Jacket watched in satisfaction as the rebels fled. He thought he had seen Captain Wellsley among the rebels and knew the white officer would try to rescue the beautiful white girl. Yellow Jacket didn't intend to give her up. “They run! The first battle of the white man's Civil War in Indian Territory is our victory!”
Around him, warriors set off war whoops and chants, and some ran out to scalp the enemy dead. Yellow Jacket almost stopped them, then shrugged. The civilized tribes had never owned the custom of scalping as the plains tribes did, but he knew some of the rebel Indians and even the Texans were scalping the slain. Twilight. With his heart beating hard with apprehension, he crossed the river and went looking for the white woman. He found her huddled behind a rock, holding Smoke's new baby against her. “Are you all right?”
Twilight was as angry as she was scared, looking up at him. “Is it over?”
“For now.” His rugged face was grim and hard. “They'll lick their wounds, and maybe we can sneak away after dark.”
She stood up. “Sneak away? Are you joking? You've got a lot of dead and wounded here.”
His face in the dusk of the coming night grew stern. “Yes, we have. Get your medical bag and see what you can do. The leaders have to meet with the ancient one to see what he plans next.”
Twilight glanced from him to Smoke's woman as she handed her the new baby. “What am I to do with them?”
“I'll see if I can find Smoke. Maybe he can find an abandoned army wagon to transport them.” With that, he strode away. She stared after his broad back, thinking he seemed to be a tower of strength among these people. They had little food or weapons, and the odds were against them. All they had in abundance was courage. With all these Confederate forces chasing them, these Indians didn't have a chance of making it the three hundred miles to the Kansas border, and yet, they wouldn't give up. From the smallest child to the frailest old woman, they were teaching Twilight something about bravery and stubborn determination.
Somewhere nearby, she heard a wounded warrior moan. She reached for her medical bag, turned to smile and make comforting gestures to the new little mother, began searching out the wounded around her. Here and there, she found some too mortally injured to be moved, and they seemed to know it. One of them didn't appear to be out of his teens. “I—I'll get a wagon,” she promised, but the warrior shook his head.
“No, must not slow the people,” he gasped. “The Master of Breath is coming for me. . . . Must—must get the people to the Union soldiers.”
She took his hand and nodded, her vision blurring with tears as he breathed once more and then died. Why had she been so terrified of these poor wretches? They were human beings after all, who lived and died and had hopes and dreams just like white “civilized” people. What difference should it make to the Confederates if a few hungry, ragged Indians made it to Kansas? If she could speak to the commander, she'd urge them to let the Indians go in peace.
Around her, people were coming out of the brush, many of them injured, and she had so little medicine to help! Taking a deep breath for courage, she went about ministering to the wounded, doing what she could, which was precious little.
Later that night, as she slumped on a log, shivering, Yellow Jacket found her. “Have you eaten?”
She shook her head wearily. “There doesn't seem to be enough to go around. I'm worried about Smoke's family. . . .”
“He's found an abandoned rebel wagon to carry them. They'll be fine.”
“I will be, too, then,” she lied.
“Come with me,” he ordered.
“But—”
When she protested, he caught her arm and led her, but she tripped and would have fallen if he had not lifted her and carried her to the shelter of a rock, where he had a small fire going. He sat her down and draped a blanket around her shoulders. “I've got a little coffee and some jerky.”
Coffee.
She was so cold, her hands were shaking. “There's others need it worse than I do.”
“Shut up and drink it.” He put a tin cup in her hands. It was warm, and instinctively she cupped her hands around it. “Eat a little.”
“Is this your food?” She took it. The meat smelled delicious, yet she hesitated.
“What do you care?” He did not smile. “We've got to keep you alive; we need your medical skills.”
“Oh, I thought, maybe—”
“Stop thinking and eat.” He leaned against the rock and sighed, closed his eyes.
There was no point in protesting, and besides, did she give a damn if her kidnapper went hungry? The thought renewed her defiance, and she ate the meat and drained the coffee. If it weren't for this big savage, she noted, she might have been able to rejoin the Confederate forces and been safe and warm tonight. Could she have slept in that safety, now knowing how these Indians suffered?
For the first time, she noted that he shivered. “What happened to your extra blanket?”
“I lost it.” He didn't look at her.
“I don't believe you.”
“All right, I gave it to a dying warrior. It eased his suffering until he met the Master of Breath.”
“What's going to happen to the severely wounded who can't walk?”
She saw pain cross his face. “We leave them behind. There's no help for it.”
“That's horrible. The Confederate troops may kill them when they find them.”
“The wounded know that.” His face in the firelight seemed to carry the weight of the world. “All that matters is that we get the people to Kansas. Nothing must delay us.”
For a moment, there was no sound save the crackle of the fire. Somewhere a wounded one moaned softly, and the sound was carried on the cold wind. In the distance, a newly born baby wailed.
“A life goes; another comes,” Twilight said softly.
He nodded. “It is the way of things. A man meets woman; they mate and produce life so that the people prevail. Nothing else matters.”
She watched him shiver again and suddenly felt guilty. “I've got your blanket, and you're cold.”
“I've been cold before.” His voice was brusque. “Did you see your Captain Wellsley out there today, coming to rescue you?”
Captain Wellsley. He seemed like a weak boy beside the warrior next to her. “No, did you kill him?”
He glared at her. “Your rich rebel is safe enough. He fled the battle like a deer running before hunters.”
Twilight lowered her eyes, imagining the humiliation of the green, inexperienced officer against a hardened warrior like Yellow Jacket. “Was my stepbrother with him?”
“Hardly!” Yellow Jacket snorted. “At least the captain did his duty. No doubt the craven Indian agent hid far to the back if he came at all. Now shut up and get some rest. We'll be pulling out in the middle of the night, trying to put some distance between us and the rebels.”
“Why don't you just surrender?” Twilight urged. “These women and children and old people can't keep walking through the snow—”
“You'd like that, wouldn't you? So you could return to the comfort of the civilized world?”
“I was thinking of the safety of your people,” she snapped back.
He stared at her, long and hard. “You are changing, Mrs. Dumont, from when I first saw you as a delicate, fearful Southern belle.”
She remembered the first time she had seen him as she stepped from the stage. “Was that what you thought of me?”
His voice was so low, she had to strain to hear him as he stared into the fire. “I thought you were the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, and I wanted you.”
She didn't know what to say. What he was suggesting was not only forbidden, it was unthinkable. She opened her mouth to speak, and then didn't know what to say.
He turned his head and looked at her, and the expression on his dark, rugged face made her heart beat faster. This virile, powerful man called out to something deep inside her soul, something wild and uncivilized that she hadn't known was there. The thought scared her. It came to her, as they stared into each other's eyes in the flickering firelight, that all she had to do was make the slightest gesture and he would reach for her—and she might not be able to stop herself from responding.
For an eternity, their gazes met and locked in the silence before he broke the spell with a regretful sigh. “Go to sleep, you of the dusky, twilight eyes; I'll wake you when we're ready to move out.”
Very slowly she sank to the ground next to him, pulled her blanket close, and closed her eyes. After a moment, she felt his big hand reach out and brush a wisp of hair away from her face ever so gently. Then his hand went to her shoulder in a protective gesture that comforted her. She felt the weight of his hand as she dropped off to sleep.
 
 
Before first light, Yellow Jacket was shaking her awake. “It's time,” he whispered almost gently.
As she roused, she felt stiff from sleeping on the cold ground. “Have you been sitting beside me all night?”
“What does it matter?” He did not look at her as he bustled about, stirring up the fire.
“Is there any coffee?”
He shook his head. “We've used the last of it. I've got a little corn bread.”
She took it gratefully and gobbled it, then suddenly realized he was only watching her. “You haven't eaten?”
BOOK: To Tame A Rebel
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