Chapter One

 

While she waited for the other women to return, Little Bear placed three fish on a thick layer of grass and rested them on hot stones. She covered them with another layer of grass and heaped ashes on top.  Her stomach grumbled at the prospect of warm food in her belly. Squatting on the ground, she held her hands out to the warmth coming from their meager fire.

The hunting had been scarce in the valley where the women and children of the once proud tribe of Chief Straight Arrow now hid. After a battle with soldiers had decimated them, the remaining warriors had ridden off, searching for a permanent place to live.

The braves had not returned even though many moons had passed. With the cries of hungry children and the wails of the elderly squaws echoing in her ears, she and the only other young women who were not heavy with child, or suckling babies, had left to search further afield for food.

White Dove returned with a small deer slung across her slim shoulders, its blood streaming down one arm. She had only recently become a woman, but already three warriors wanted to marry her. Bright Moon loped along behind her carrying a bow and arrow, small enough for a woman to use, but deadly accurate just the same. Three other maidens staggered under the weight of reed baskets full of roots.

A weak sun shining from a cloudy blue sky gave out no warmth, and Little Bear was glad of the beaver cloak she wore draped around her shoulders.

Once relieved of their loads, the maidens squatted around the fire waiting for the fish to cook.

“I think I will marry Running Wolf when he returns,” White Dove said suddenly. “He is so handsome and he doesn’t have other wives.

“Wild Elk is old, but he makes powerful medicine,” Bright Moon said. “I would choose him.”

Little Bear listened with a stab of envy. The tribe had taken her in after they had found her collapsed and near death after she had escaped from Max Russell and his evil plans. They were her family now Pa had been killed by a falling tree three years ago.

The Lakota had treated her well, but she was barren, and no brave wanted a wife who couldn’t give him sons.  Other than that, she was one of them, except she had to keep more of her body covered than her friends because of her fair skin.

A thunder of hooves spun her around. Several cowboys raced toward them.

“Run. Run,” she screamed out in the Lakota tongue.

Gunshots rang out, and Little Bear ran for her life. She knew only too well what the white man could do to Indian women.