watered, then hobbled to graze nearby, where he will be ready for tomorrow’s journey.”
Miranda did not bother to respond.
His dark eyes turning to ice, Shadow Walker took both horses’s leads and turned toward the path to a stream nearby. Unmoving until he disappeared from sight, Miranda released a tense breath.
She would play his game, but she would play it her way.
Major Thurston walked out into the late afternoon shadows of the fort yard. He was immediately conscious of the abrupt silence that overtook the area at his appearance, and he stiffened spontaneously. He saw a few words being exchanged in whispers between soldiers standing inthe shadows, and he noted the uneasiness with which the troopers looked back at him. The sympathy of his men had been with him from the first moment when it became apparent that Miranda had been taken by the Cheyenne. He knew true anger at her capture simmered under the surface, that they accepted the trick she had played on Private Blake as youthful foolishness that had gone astray, and that most of his men were as frustrated as he. But this was different. The men knew something he didn’t. It was as if they were waiting for something.”
“Sir …”
Major Thurston turned toward the young trooper who had appeared at his side. The fellow’s mouth twitched nervously before he handed over a folded sheet of paper and said, “Corporal Small received this message over the wire a few minutes ago.”
Bad news traveled fast in a fort the size of Fort Walters, obviously faster than the time it took to reach him.
Rigid with apprehension, Charles unfolded the neatly printed message and read:
TO: MAJOR CHARLES THURSTON FORT WALTERS
VOLATILE SITUATION WITH CHEYENNE ON
WESTERN FRONTIER BEING CLOSELY
REVIEWED. AGGRESSIVE CONTACT WITH
HOSTILES TO BE AVOIDED UNTIL FURTHER
NOTICE. NO EXCEPTIONS TO BE MADE.
GENERAL GRENVILLE M. MORTON COMMANDER, DEPT OF THE MISSOURI WASHINGTON, D.C.
Aggressive contact with hostiles to be avoided until further notice.
Major Thurston stared at the missive, incredulous. There had been no further mention of Miranda despite his numerous communications to Washington. To them she was just another casualty of the western campaign.
A casualty.
No, he wouldn’t accept that! Miranda was alive. She was out there somewhere, and he was going to find her.
Crushing the paper in his hand, Charles turned back toward his office. There was no point in waiting for Indian agent Edwards’s help, or for help from anyone else on the frontier. With this communication, Washington had eliminated any recourse in what he must do.
Her stomach was growling.
Silent, Miranda sat across the campfire as darkness fell and Shadow Walker chewed the last remnants of a portion of roasted meat, then discarded the bone. He did not look at her as he cut another slice from the carcass and continued eating. She stared at the few pieces remaining. The aroma wafting from the meat had tantalized her for the past hour, and the sight of juices dripping into the fire asit cooked had left her salivating. Her heart had actually begun pounding when Shadow Walker had removed the roast from the spit.
He had eaten one piece after another without offering her any. Watching as Shadow Walker’s even, white teeth sank into the savory meat, she had become so deeply absorbed that she had almost been able to taste it.
Almost.
Turning away in time to avoid his glance when he looked up at her, Miranda pretended an interest in the shadows of the wooded copse nearby. She suspected, however, that her pitiful ruse could fool no one—especially when her stomach rumbled again, too loudly to be ignored.
But Shadow Walker did ignore it, and she was silently enraged. If he thought she would beg him for something to eat, he was badly mistaken. She’d starve first!
Determined, she reached for the water pouch—anything to quiet her traitorous stomach. She drew back when he leaned over and snatched it back from her
Miranda did not bother to respond.
His dark eyes turning to ice, Shadow Walker took both horses’s leads and turned toward the path to a stream nearby. Unmoving until he disappeared from sight, Miranda released a tense breath.
She would play his game, but she would play it her way.
Major Thurston walked out into the late afternoon shadows of the fort yard. He was immediately conscious of the abrupt silence that overtook the area at his appearance, and he stiffened spontaneously. He saw a few words being exchanged in whispers between soldiers standing inthe shadows, and he noted the uneasiness with which the troopers looked back at him. The sympathy of his men had been with him from the first moment when it became apparent that Miranda had been taken by the Cheyenne. He knew true anger at her capture simmered under the surface, that they accepted the trick she had played on Private Blake as youthful foolishness that had gone astray, and that most of his men were as frustrated as he. But this was different. The men knew something he didn’t. It was as if they were waiting for something.”
“Sir …”
Major Thurston turned toward the young trooper who had appeared at his side. The fellow’s mouth twitched nervously before he handed over a folded sheet of paper and said, “Corporal Small received this message over the wire a few minutes ago.”
Bad news traveled fast in a fort the size of Fort Walters, obviously faster than the time it took to reach him.
Rigid with apprehension, Charles unfolded the neatly printed message and read:
TO: MAJOR CHARLES THURSTON FORT WALTERS
VOLATILE SITUATION WITH CHEYENNE ON
WESTERN FRONTIER BEING CLOSELY
REVIEWED. AGGRESSIVE CONTACT WITH
HOSTILES TO BE AVOIDED UNTIL FURTHER
NOTICE. NO EXCEPTIONS TO BE MADE.
GENERAL GRENVILLE M. MORTON COMMANDER, DEPT OF THE MISSOURI WASHINGTON, D.C.
Aggressive contact with hostiles to be avoided until further notice.
Major Thurston stared at the missive, incredulous. There had been no further mention of Miranda despite his numerous communications to Washington. To them she was just another casualty of the western campaign.
A casualty.
No, he wouldn’t accept that! Miranda was alive. She was out there somewhere, and he was going to find her.
Crushing the paper in his hand, Charles turned back toward his office. There was no point in waiting for Indian agent Edwards’s help, or for help from anyone else on the frontier. With this communication, Washington had eliminated any recourse in what he must do.
Her stomach was growling.
Silent, Miranda sat across the campfire as darkness fell and Shadow Walker chewed the last remnants of a portion of roasted meat, then discarded the bone. He did not look at her as he cut another slice from the carcass and continued eating. She stared at the few pieces remaining. The aroma wafting from the meat had tantalized her for the past hour, and the sight of juices dripping into the fire asit cooked had left her salivating. Her heart had actually begun pounding when Shadow Walker had removed the roast from the spit.
He had eaten one piece after another without offering her any. Watching as Shadow Walker’s even, white teeth sank into the savory meat, she had become so deeply absorbed that she had almost been able to taste it.
Almost.
Turning away in time to avoid his glance when he looked up at her, Miranda pretended an interest in the shadows of the wooded copse nearby. She suspected, however, that her pitiful ruse could fool no one—especially when her stomach rumbled again, too loudly to be ignored.
But Shadow Walker did ignore it, and she was silently enraged. If he thought she would beg him for something to eat, he was badly mistaken. She’d starve first!
Determined, she reached for the water pouch—anything to quiet her traitorous stomach. She drew back when he leaned over and snatched it back from her
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