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Prologue

Sarah stared down at the package in her hand, at the delicate bow tied around the brown paper that concealed the box inside.

"Go on. Open it." Ben pushed her hand closer.

Sarah glanced at her husband of six months, his face silhouetted in the light of the fire. Dark eyes that matched his dark hair reflected hope and happiness as he snuggled next to her in front of the hearth. The flames of the fire popped and crackled to cast vibrant streaks of light across the room.

"Come on." He nudged her. "I'd like you to see what's inside before we're both old and gray."

Sarah smiled and tore at the paper, slowly at first then faster, curious of what lay hidden inside the long, rectangle package. Once exposed, she traced her fingers over the black, velvet cover.

Ben hissed an impatient noise. "Sarah..."

But Sarah wanted to savor the moment. To remember forever their first Christmas together.

Ben Walters was all Sarah Reynolds ever hoped for or dreamed of in a husband. Not like the dandies her father had tried to marry her off to.

Roger Reynolds, Sarah's father and one of the largest landowners in the state of Pennsylvania, had tried for years to marry his only daughter to any one of the sons of rich men who resided in the same county. But she'd resisted and chosen the one man who made her heart soar and her blood rush like an open floodgate. Ben Walters, the newly hired foreman of her father's vast ranch, was that man. Ben was real with the strength and character of a good man, yet gentle and loving.

Sarah's heart swelled with love for her husband who lay next to her on the floor in the front room of the tiny home they called their own.

"Go on," Ben said again.

Sarah raised the lid--and gasped. She lifted the necklace from inside. Light exploded around the little room from the golden oval locket like hundreds of shooting stars when the light from the fire struck it. It danced and swirled in the firelight as though alive. Sarah could only stare through blurred eyes at so precious a gift.

She put it back in the box and threw her arms around her husband. She kissed every visible part of his face, ears and neck and thanked him over and over again.

Ben laughed and squeezed her tighter. "It's only a small token of how much I love you," he said, his voice gruff with emotion.

Tears streamed down Sarah's cheeks and it took several minutes to regain her composure. She sat back on her heels, lifted the box and gazed down at the locket inside.

"This is beautiful, Ben. The most beautiful gift I've ever received."

Ben raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips. "You know that's not true. Your father's given you hundreds of beautiful gifts." He paused and smiled. "But I like the fact you'd say so."

"No matter what you think, Ben Walters, as far as I'm concerned this is the most beautiful gift I've gotten." She scooted away from him. "Certainly Father's given me many lovely things, but none compare to this. I can imagine what it must have cost. Now I know why you spent all those long hours at the Harris ranch these past months." She stared into the fire while her fingers slid back and forth across the box containing the locket. A single tear clung to the corner of her eye. It slipped to her cheek when she turned back to her husband.

"Father loves me and he's only interested in what's best for me. That's why he's made things so difficult for us." She looked away. "And because we're going to go to what he considers the ends of the earth," she added.

Before she'd thought her actions through, Sarah had mentioned Ben's dream of going west to her father, and from then on, he'd done his best to separate them any way he could. He'd gone so far as to fire Ben from his position as ranch foreman and even tried to discredit him. But the other ranchers knew what was really in Roger Reynolds' heart, and the Harrises had snatched Ben up in a heartbeat.

Sarah remained thoughtful about where her life was headed. Toward a place where the unknown ruled. Where it's beauty was beyond compare, yet death was commonplace as the struggle for triumph over the elements too often became all consuming. Where life was lived, or lost, according to the world around you.

Ben turned Sarah's face back to his. "Sarah, we're going to have a good life. We'll have a ranch of our own, one we'll build with our own sweat and blood. A ranch we can be proud of. We'll be happy. And no one will take that away."

Sarah forced a smile. She and Ben had spoken of this often. He called the journey they'd soon take along the Oregon Trail their adventure. She couldn't help but smile when she recalled how he'd spread fliers all over the floor in his attempt to convince her how safe it was to travel west. "We'll be trailblazers. We'll open up new country," he'd said, his voice proud and full of awe.

"Sarah?" Ben's voice broke into her thoughts. "Are you all right?"

She covered his hand with hers. Yes, she was all right. She was with the man she loved and no one would drive them apart. And she would do what made him happy. And that was to go west, to find their destiny.

"You know your father's tried to drive a wedge between us since the day he found out about us," Ben continued. "Even before he knew about our plans to leave. I'm just plain not good enough for his little girl."

Sarah frowned. "You know why. I'm his only child and he's been mother and father to me since Mama died when I was so young. He's a bit protective, that's all."

"A bit protective?" Ben snorted. "He's more protective than a mother bear over her cub. He would've been happy to marry you off to any one of the sons of those rich dandies and let you be miserable the rest of your life. I didn't measure up, even though he knew I made you happy." He sighed.

Sarah poked him.

"You're good enough for me. Better than good enough." She leaned over and kissed him on the lips. "Ummmm. Much better," she murmured with a giggle when they parted.

She sat back and used the hem of her dress to shine the locket and again let the necklace dangle from her hand, the lights refracting around the room.

"Here." Ben sat up. "There's something else I want to show you." He took the locket, pushed a tiny clasp at the top and it opened. Etched into the gold on the left side were their initials.

Tears welled again in Sarah's eyes as Ben placed the necklace around her neck.

Her fingers caressed the golden surface. "I'll never take it off. I promise."

Another kiss sealed her vow.

PART 1

THE INDIANS

I am a fox

I am supposed to die

If there is anything difficult

If there is anything dangerous

That is mine to do.

Oglala Dog Society

Chapter One

The scream was so shrill and laced with foreboding Sarah Walters jerked upright at the sound. She dropped her laundry into the river without a thought as her breath caught and her stomach clenched into knots of fear. The hair on her neck bristled and a shiver ran up and down her spine. She whirled around from the river's edge. A colorfully painted Indian dressed in ankle-high moccasins and a loincloth stood in front of the women of the wagon train. A breastplate of bones and beads covered his wide chest. Cold, black, hooded eyes glared at Sarah and the other women as they stood in silent fear.

Almost a dozen Indians joined the first and Sarah's heart hammered in her chest. A hand came down on her shoulder and she jerked around, fists balled, ready to fight for her life. But it was Ben who stood beside her.

"What do they want?" she managed through a tightened throat.

"I don't know. We'll have to wait and see." Ben pointed. "Andrews is on his way to talk to them."

A short, stocky Indian emerged from the center of the group. His greased black hair was adorned with feathers and beads and stood straight on end. He appeared to be the leader and waited, motionless, as Andrews, the wagon master, pushed through the gathered crowd of immigrants on shore.

Through sign and a few words, Andrews and the Indian parleyed for several minutes.

"They want a toll for passage over their land," Andrews finally told the men and women gathered at the edge of the river. "They want coffee and tobacco."

Sarah imagined they'd take whatever they wanted one way or another.

Sarah, Ben and the rest of the members of the train hurried back to their wagons to gather the requested goods as the Indians wandered through camp.

One brave came around the side of the Walters wagon and stopped to gaze at Midnight, Ben's horse, tethered there. Concealed on the other side of the wagon, Sarah gaped at the Indian's missing right ear. She stared at the small opening surrounded by white, thick scar tissue as the Indian ran his hand over the animal's firm haunches.

One Ear was admiring Midnight's fine lines just as Ben poked his head out of the wagon. His back stiffened and his jaw ticked in anger at the sight of the Indian and his horse. He jumped down and stepped toward the brave, but Andrews stopped him in mid-stride.

One Ear pointed Midnight out to several braves who nodded their approval. His hand slid up the animal's neck, over his head and he grabbed the bridle.

Ben surged toward the Indian and horse, but Andrews held firm.

"Don't Ben. It's not worth it. It's only an animal. He's not worth your life."

Ben yanked his arm, but Andrews wouldn't release him. "If he wants that horse, he'll take it. Don't give him cause to try and kill you. We don't want any trouble," Andrews hissed.

One Ear glared at Ben from the corner of his eye. The brave seemed to dare Ben as he continued to stroke Midnight's silky coat. Slowly, he removed the bridle from the horse's head, dropped it to the ground and replaced it with a length of rope. The Indian looked over at Ben, a smile of satisfaction on his face.

Ben lunged, but Andrews was a strong man with big hands and his grip held Ben in place. Unable to watch her husband trying to get himself killed, Sarah stepped forward and grabbed Ben's other arm.

"Stop it, Ben! It's only a horse for God's sake. He's not worth your life. That Indian has murder in his eyes. Can't you see that? He'd love to challenge you for possession of that animal." She paused and her voice softened. "I know you love him, but he isn't worth your life."

One Ear stared gape-mouthed at Sarah and his hand dropped from the horse. He stepped toward Sarah, his hand stretched out in front of him to touch her.

Ben tore free of Andrews' grip and jumped between Sarah and the brave who was only five feet from her.

"You're damn well out of your mind if you think you're going anywhere near my wife."

Ben stood his ground and One Ear stepped closer, their heavy breathing the only thing heard.

They faced off ready to do battle until the gruff, guttural voice of another Indian shattered the quiet. One Ear's back stiffened and he whirled to face his leader. He shouted and pointed at Midnight. The chief crossed his arms over his chest and spoke, his voice hard and controlled. One Ear shouted at him again, but the other Indian turned his back and walked away. One Ear spun back to Ben, a look that would chill the devil's soul on his face, before he stalked away.

Several minutes later, with bags of coffee, flour and tobacco tied to their horses, the party of Indians rode off. Save one.

With dread sharp in the pit of her belly Sarah recognized One Ear. He sat atop his pony scanning the camp and stopped only when his eyes settled on Ben and Sarah. He jerked his horse's reins. The animal reared up, its hooves slashing the air, its head flinging back and forth. The Indian raised his lance high above his head and his shrill cry resounded throughout camp. Sarah's skin bubbled with gooseflesh.

One Ear swung his mount around and raced away with the others, his challenge hanging on the air long after their departure.

A bad feeling overwhelmed Sarah. She held tight to Ben. They hadn't seen the last of the one-eared Indian.

* * *

"Storm's blowing in!" Ben yelled over the howling night wind, clutching his hat to keep it from flying away across the plains. "Coming in fast! We've got to secure the wagon and get these animals tied off!"

Sarah forced herself from the safety of the wagon and raced to help her husband. Her hair whipped and snapped painfully around her face and into her eyes and mouth. She ran from one side of the wagon to the other tying off every loose bucket and lantern. Her skirt stung her ankles and legs in the frenzied wind as Ben fought to tether the animals before the full rage of the storm hit. The wagon swayed. Raging wind shook everything in its path. Thunder rolled toward them; the ground rumbled beneath Sarah's feet to echo like hundreds of stampeding horses. Mean black clouds stretched the length of the night sky until bright, white streaks of lightning split the inky darkness to momentarily blind. Animals bellowed and lashed their tails in fear. Children cried in terror and men and women shouted orders as they braced for the storm's fury.

Ben shoved Sarah inside the wagon only moments before the wind hit again, bawling like a calf at branding time. Shivers ran down Sarah's back. The sky turned black as tar and the air grew icy cold. Hailstones the size of silver dollars battered and slashed at the dusty canvas, Ben and Sarah's only protection against the mounting storm.

The hail subsided its furious tirade within a few minutes, but on its tail came a torrential downpour of rain, more thunder and lightning. The sky glowed eerily as crooked fingers of light reached out across the blackened earth to strike and tear at the helpless wagons. The ground shook with each roll of thunder and pots and pans that hung from the wagon beam rattled wildly. Sarah covered her ears and curled into a ball as the wind wailed by like a banshee warning her next victim.

The rumbling mounted again and Sarah waited for the explosion of sound then light. She closed her eyes against it, pushed her hands tighter around her ears. She was in the middle of a war of the elements, unarmed and helpless.

Strong, warm arms encircled her and she fell into Ben's welcome embrace. But Ben's warmth didn't change her thoughts. Doubt overwhelmed her. Why had she come on this foolish quest? For fortune? To tame the wilderness? Fear of the unknown threatened to rise to the surface of her mind and consume her, but she forced it back. What else would they find along the trail, alone, without benefit of civilization? More Indians? More hardships? More storms? She started to shake and Ben's arms tightened around her shoulders.

"Shhh," he whispered before he kissed her ear. "It'll be fine. We just have to wait it out, but we'll be fine. I promise."

But would they be fine? she wondered again. If they survived this storm, what would they find further along the trail? She had read the publications heralding the vast beauty of the plains. But all she had seen so far was grit and mud and sweat. And Indians. She'd read of the bounteous grasses that grew six feet tall and waved in the warm, gentle breezes. About the beautiful flowers spread out across the plains and the wild buffalo that trod there. Of the land waiting to be claimed and turned into the ranch she and Ben dreamed of. But where were those lush grasses and beautiful flowers now?

"It'll be all right, Sarah," Ben soothed.

"Will it?" She jerked out of his arms. "How do we know that? This is the second violent storm we've encountered since we left Westport. Everything about the trail looks the same. Flat, desolate, few trees and wide-open, and either covered with dust or mud. And what about the Indians? Will we see more of them? And if we do, will they be friendly or more hostile than those others? What if their chief hadn't stopped that brave from fighting you? What might have happened then?"

"What are you saying, Sarah? Have you changed your mind about our going west? I thought it was something we both wanted." Ben's face took on a stricken look in the dim wagon. "We talked about this for days. Weeks. We agreed the only way for us to survive was away from your father. You knew there were dangers. I thought you wanted this as much as I did. To build a new life for ourselves on a ranch that might someday rival any back East. Even your father's. One we can pass on to our children."

Sadness washed over Sarah like a wave. He'd said the dreaded word. Children. They'd been married for eight months and had planned for children immediately, but there was no sign. Sometimes Sarah's stomach hurt enough to make her think she was carrying, but she was always disappointed. Tears filled her eyes and Ben pulled her back into his arms.

"Oh, Sarah. We'll have children, and if we don't, there are worse things than going through life childless." He paused and stroked her face with his forefinger. "Like life without you."

She lifted her eyes to his. He loved her, she knew that, and she loved him with all her heart. Staring at his eyes, she recalled the first time she saw them. She had just rounded the barn of her father's ranch, smelling of horses and hay after a long hard ride on her favorite horse, Jezebel, when she'd run smack into the man. They collided, nearly knocking each other down. He had to reach out and grab her to keep her from landing on the ground. Their eyes met and she'd been lost from that day on.

She touched his face; conjured in her mind all the arguments as to why they shouldn't go on, but she stopped at the one reason why she would. Because she loved this man with every ounce of her being and what he wanted, she wanted. Why had she come on this journey?

She had come for him.

The night seemed endless. Rain pounded the earth and soaked everything and everyone on it. It wasn't long before the oiled canvas of the wagon offered little protection from the downpour. Water dripped slow, yet constant. It seeped in through the sides, soaked the floor beneath them. Cloaked in as many blankets as they could find to ward off the bone-chilling moisture in the air, Ben and Sarah still grew wet and cold. But the elements continued to unleash their beastly fury around them. It rocked the wagon on its axles as it sunk deeper and deeper into the mud.

Hours later the storm rumbled into the darkness and Sarah drifted into sleep. Ben looked down at her slumbering form and a smile crossed his face. He searched the contours of her heart-shaped face, the high cheekbones, the small, crooked nose, and the lips that were soft, moist and sweet when he kissed them. She was his. Forever. He gazed down at the long, dark lashes that were closed in sleep and imagined the brilliant, blue eyes hidden beneath them, eyes that seemed to have a life of their own, always smiling and happy. He reached down and touched a lock of her wheat-colored hair; wanted to roll his hand in it and pull her lips to his in a passionate kiss. Instead, he let her sleep. His eyes slid down from her narrow chin to her silky neck where the golden locket rose and fell with each breath. He smiled, lay down beside her and remembered her words.

"I'll never take it off," she'd said as she caressed the locket. "I promise."

Ben smiled in the dark. He couldn't remember a day since that Christmas morning she hadn't worn the necklace proudly. He was a lucky man. A lucky man indeed.

The following day the wagon bogged down in the mud every time they tried to move. Only when the sun had been out for hours and the wind blown constantly, did they make any headway.

When the wagon got stuck just before sundown, Ben dug them out one last time then announced they'd camp there, an uncomfortable distance from the rest of the train.

Ben ate a quick meal then curled up in the bedroll at the rear of the wagon. He was asleep within minutes of his head finding the pillow.

Snuggled beside him in the glow of lamplight, Sarah put the final stitches in a dress she'd been working on. Midnight snorted outside, drawing her attention. She listened, but all remained quiet. Midnight snorted again and moved restlessly. Not wanting to disturb Ben's much needed rest, she put her sewing aside and waited. God how she wished they'd camped closer to the rest of the wagon train.

"Who's there?" she asked. Silence. She leaned out and found herself looking into a pair of familiar, hard black eyes. She started to scream, but One Ear's hand clapped over her mouth in an instant.

Midnight stamped and snorted and she prayed the horse's noise would waken Ben. She tried to bite the Indian's hand, but couldn't grab any skin with her teeth. He dragged her out of the wagon like a rag doll.

She fought with every ounce of strength she had, but One Ear was too strong, solid like a wall. He pulled her up against his chest. His eyes danced with evil in the moonlight. Sarah's mind raced. Her feet dangled helplessly in mid-air. She kicked at him, but only managed to make him grunt. His grip never wavered. Desperate, she went limp in his arms hoping to make him believe she'd fainted.

His grip lessened, only slightly, but enough. With raw fear gripping her senses, she tore her mouth free and screamed with every breath she had.

"Ben! Help me! Ben!"

Ben stumbled out of the wagon. One Ear dropped Sarah, untied Midnight and flung himself onto the horse's back. Ben pulled a knife from his boot and ran toward the Indian. He grabbed for One Ear's leg as Midnight reared in the commotion. He caught and held on, his feet dragging in the dirt as the horse hit the ground and tried to run. Ben yanked the brave from the animal's back and the two crashed to the ground.

They jumped up and faced each other. One Ear drew his knife to match Ben's. They moved in a circle. Both blades flashed in the moonlight and Sarah thought she'd be sick at the sight of the two men facing off before her. The Indian lunged forward. Ben jumped aside. The blade missed his stomach by mere inches. One Ear whirled and smiled, as though pleased for a worthy opponent.

Each time Ben jumped, Sarah jumped. Unable to stand and do nothing, she ran to the wagon to look for something she could use to hit the Indian. She scrambled inside and threw aside anything that wouldn't help her in her quest. She finally looked up and spotted a heavy cast-iron skillet above her. She grabbed it with both hands and scooted back outside the wagon in time to see the brave dive toward Ben with his knife ready for the kill. But Ben kicked the knife out of his hand and swung his own knife toward One Ear's belly. The Indian grabbed Ben's wrist and the two struggled for control. One Ear shoved his knee into Ben's gut. Air exploded from his lungs and he staggered. The knife clattered down beside him and One Ear leaped to retrieve it.

Fear tore through Sarah. She ran up behind the brave and swung the pan with all her might. But the Indian must have heard her coming, because he jerked aside and the pan merely glanced off his shoulder. He grabbed the knife from the ground and swung back around.

"Ben!" Sarah screamed as she ran away. "He's got your knife!" The knife glinted in One Ear's hand as he stood back up to his full height, an evil glint in his eyes.

Ben's hands were on his knees and he was gasping for air, but he looked up in time to dive away from the slashing blade.

"Come on you bastard," Ben yelled as he refilled his burning lungs. "Let's finish this. Now!"

The Indian's face became hard. He charged. The knife narrowly missed Ben's neck when he rushed past. Ben swung his leg and kicked One Ear in the back as the brave ran by. He stumbled, but didn't fall and he turned back to Ben, a murderous scowl on his face. He charged again. The two met, chest-to-chest, the knife poised above Ben's back, ready for the kill.

Ben struggled to keep One Ear's arm suspended above his head. In a burst of effort, he plunged his knee into the brave's stomach. One Ear doubled over. Ben punched the Indian in the face, knocking him to the ground. The knife flew out of One Ear's hand and skittered away. The brave scrambled toward the knife, Ben at his heels. They rolled and tumbled, each man trying to gain the advantage.

Sarah had never seen such stamina. Ben was a strong man, but this Indian seemed invincible. She ran to the front of the wagon and screamed. She screamed at the top of her lungs for someone to come and help them. It was then she remembered the gun. She ran to the wagon seat, lifted the lid and reached inside, her mind a whirl. Where were the others? Why didn't they hear her? Why didn't someone come and help them? Unable to see inside the seat in the darkness, she fumbled around until her fingers finally touched on the smooth wood of the box that contained the Colt Ben had told her about over and over again. She pulled out the box, ripped it open, grabbed the gun and ran back to where the two men struggled.

One Ear had broken away from Ben and was clawing his way toward the knife that lay in front of them. Ben, right behind him, grabbed at his heels. The Indian reached the knife, rolled and jumped upright. He landed on his feet as easily as a cat. Ben was still on the ground, defenseless. One Ear muttered something and settled the knife in his hand. He raised his arm to plunge the knife into Ben's heart.

Gunfire tore through the night air and the Indian's arm stopped in mid-thrust. His body jerked, his knees buckled and he fell to the ground, his face in the mud.

Ben jumped to his feet and ran to Sarah. He pried the smoking gun from her trembling hands, just as the others from the train reached them. She muttered, incoherent, as she looked down at the fallen brave's body.

"What happened?" Andrews yelled over the voices of the other immigrants. "What the hell happened?"

"I had to kill him," Sarah said over and over again. "I had no choice." Her hands trembled and her face was as white as paste.

Ben jerked his chin toward the dead Indian. "I guess coffee and sugar weren't enough for him." He put his arm around Sarah's shoulders and led her toward the wagon.

"I had to. I had no choice," Sarah continued to mumble as she and Ben disappeared into the darkness of the wagon.

Chapter Two

The wagon ground to a halt at the top of a ridge. Sarah stared down at the vast wilderness below, neither beautiful nor picturesque as the fliers had touted in their efforts to entice people west. Instead the wilderness looked desolate and wild. The land was brown, foreboding, and nothing moved except the lizards and grasshoppers darting across the dusty earth where dried prairie grass and prickly pear cactus grew.

Unable to stand the constant jarring of her teeth and body, Sarah handed Ben the reins and jumped off the wagon to continue on foot. She walked mindlessly and neither saw nor felt the terrain around her. She didn't see the wildflowers that grew in huge clumps and splashed yellow and purple hues across the landscape. She didn't smell the sweet aroma of sagebrush as the bushes were crushed under the wagon's wheels. Nor did she notice the clear blue sky with its patches of white, puffy clouds that floated like ships across a vast blue ocean. All she saw were her feet, dust, and the hundreds of grasshoppers that skittered away in clusters as they hopped to safety from each step she took, each step more difficult than the last. All around, deep ravines made travel difficult and hazardous for the stock and wagons.

At least there were a few trees here, she thought. Evergreens and ash she'd heard Ben say. But she didn't care. After a long, endurance-testing month on the trail, in which she'd killed a man and survived all manner of weather, all she wanted was to sleep in a real bed, bathe in a real tub and eat without benefit of bugs crawling all over her. To spend one day without the sun burning every inch of her exposed skin. She was tired of the drudgery of the constantly moving wagon train that never stopped, not even to birth a baby or tend a wounded man. She walked endlessly, mindlessly forward, following the wagon in front of her.

The wagon creaked to a stop at the crest of the next steep hill and Sarah joined Ben beside the front of the wagon. She wanted to cry over what was below. Nothing but more ravines and more hills.

Ben grabbed her around the waist and lifted her off the ground. "It's incredible, isn't it?" His face was aglow with childlike excitement.

Words couldn't express what Sarah felt. She managed to force a smile, for Ben's sake, as he touched her feet back to the ground. He gave her a squeeze and led her to the back of the wagon where he tied off the rear wheels to the wagon box to keep the vehicle from rolling freely down the hill. A hill that seemed more like a mountain in her estimation. Sarah's heart pounded. All she could envision was the wagon careening out of control and watching all their earthly belongings smashed and destroyed before it crashed to the bottom.

"Don't worry, Sarah. We'll be fine. Just like everybody else." He pointed at the other wagons already at the bottom of the hill then double-checked the wheels before he led Sarah back up front. She turned her face into the cool breeze and stared out over the terrain they had yet to cross. All she could see were hills, hills and more hills. Not grassy, rolling hills, but steep, rocky, treacherous hills that stretched all the way into tomorrow and beyond.

"Our turn." Ben's voice drew her from her temporary musing. He kissed her forehead, reached out and grabbed the lead mule's harness to begin the decent.

Sarah's heart stuck in her throat as she watched Ben lead the mules forward over the crest. After several minutes of prodding the reluctant animals, down they went. The wagon slipped and slid with each mule's step. But Ben was patient as he guided them downward, talking softly as they went. Behind them, dust and loosened rocks swirled around Sarah's ankles as she tried to avoid walking in the already deep ruts cut into the hillside. Slowly, she picked her way down until they were both at the bottom of the hollow. Ben untied the rear wheels and led the team away so the next wagon down didn't slide into them. He stopped the mules a short distance away and Sarah flopped down beside one of the wheels.

"That's it. I can't go any farther," she mumbled. "I'll never make it. I'm not strong enough. I can't make it. I just can't. I never should have come," she muttered over and over again until Ben's voice penetrated her mumbling.

"Sarah!"

She stopped and looked up into his face. His eyes were wild with fear, his mouth tight.

"Stop it, Sarah. Stop it right now!" he commanded.

"Stop what? I've stated a simple fact. I can't go on. I'm not strong enough. I thought I could do this, but apparently I can't. No more rivers or prairies; not another hill or ravine. I don't have the strength." She gazed at everything around her. "I know there's nothing here to sustain us if we stopped right here, but I just don't have the energy to keep going right now. I'm tired of the desolation, the dust or mud, whichever it happens to be at the time, the heat, the bugs and the constant, burning sun. I can't do it, Ben. I simply can't go on."

"Sarah! Listen to me. You have to. You have no choice."

She threw her hands into the air. "Why did I agree to this lunacy?" she yelled to the sky. "Why did I give up a comfortable life with everything I could have possibly ever wanted to blindly follow you to this--this Promised Land? I can't take much more, I tell you. I can't." She clamped her hands down over her face. "I can't go on, Ben. I won't."

Her mind slipped back to the past, to a life that had been easy and carefree. Where her every desire needed only be spoken and it was granted. Where people took care of her, pampered her, loved her. She imagined herself in a hot tub of water as warm liquid sluiced over her body. A towel brought to her by Cassie, the free black woman who'd been in their household as long as she could remember. She could hear the ranch hands shouting outside, hear carriages arriving for another of her father's famous parties.

She was abruptly drawn from her musing when Ben grabbed both her wrists and yanked them away from her face.

"Sarah. Listen to me." His words penetrated her sullen state. "You can go on, and you will. You have no choice and neither do I. Look around you. There's nothing here. Nothing to sustain us even if we did stop. There's no water and no shelter. We have no choice, Sarah. We have to keep going."

Sarah searched Ben's face then looked around. A few trees stood like sentinels over the open expanse of land, but nothing else was visible to sustain life. No water, no shelter. Only rocks, grass and dirt. Ben was right, there was nothing here. Even if they did stop they would die within days without water or protection from the elements other than the wagon. And they'd be alone, for the wagon train would move on without them. She forced back an overwhelming desire to scream. To vent her rage for being here in the middle of nothing, going only God knew where. But she had to go on and she knew it, even though her mind begged for respite.

She looked at Ben's face and noticed new lines etched around his eyes. Those hadn't been there a few weeks ago. The strain of this journey was wearing on him, too.

Rest. That was all she needed. Just a few days rest and then she could go on. But they didn't have a few days. The train waited for no one. They were already falling behind. She remembered hearing something about Fort Laramie. Hadn't someone said they were only a few days away? If only she could reach the fort, then she could rest.

"Sarah? Are you all right?" Ben touched her face.

She nodded and forced herself to speak. "Yes, just give me a minute." She looked up at Ben and guilt washed over her. "I'm so sorry, Ben. You're right. We don't have a choice. It's just that...everything closed in on me all at once. The Indians, the constant grueling pace, the heat one minute and the bitter cold the next. It got to me. If I can just rest a few minutes, I'll be fine, then we can catch up. Please," she added in desperation. "Just a few minutes."

Ben's relief was obvious. "A few minutes, that's all. We're already behind. We'll have to hurry to catch up as it is."

Sarah closed her eyes and nodded, thankful for the respite, however short it might be.

* * *

Only two day's ride from Fort Laramie, Sarah allowed herself to think of the few luxuries she would avail herself of when they arrived. She would languish in a hot tub for hours, wash her hair and scrub her skin till it turned bright red. She would sleep in a real bed and eat at a real table.

The reins dangled loose in her hands and her eyes closed as the mules followed the wagon ahead. She dozed.

Shouts of warning rent the air and jerked her from her slumber.

A strangled cry of pure terror caused the hair on Sarah's neck to stand on end. She pulled the wagon to a stop and slipped the reins around the brake. Fear rose sharp and quick in her throat as she reached below the seat for the box that contained the Colt handgun, the same gun she'd used to kill One Ear. Who'd have thought she'd have to pick it up again so soon? The weapon tight in her grip, she waited for Ben to come and tell her what was happening.

He raced toward her a few seconds later. Clumps of dirt and grass flew out from Midnight's hooves as they sped toward her. Ben jerked the animal to a skidding stop, jumped off the horse and quickly tethered him to the wagon. He climbed onto the seat beside Sarah and grabbed the reins off the brake.

"What's happening?" Sarah managed, her throat dry, nerves tight.

Reins slapped against the mule's backsides. "We've got to get this wagon into a circle with the others. Indians have been spotted over the rise behind us, in full war paint!" The mules pulled the wagon into formation with the others.

Sarah's heart pounded. Were they here because she'd killed One Ear? Were the Indians going to attack all these people because of her?

Ben seemed to know her thoughts. "We don't know why they're here, Sarah. We don't know if they're even from the same tribe as that Indian you killed and we don't know for sure if they're going to attack. But we'll be ready, just in case." Ben again slapped the reins against the rumps of the mules.

As the wagon swung around, Sarah saw them. Dozens of riders sat atop painted horses at the crest of the rise, their faces a blur of colors. Feathers stuck out from their long, straight black hair. Their ponies pranced with anticipation as the riders waited. Sarah's body went cold and guilt overwhelmed her at the thought that good people of this wagon train might be killed because of her. But it had been either Ben or One Ear and that was no choice.

The wagons formed a circle. Men and women scrambled from their seats and hurried for cover. Sarah dropped to the ground. She peeked out from behind the wagon where she hid and searched the painted men lined up in front of her. She thought she'd jump right out of her skin when Ben came up beside her and placed his hand protectively on her waist.

Sarah opened her mouth to speak, but the words were choked off when the line of Indians began to move.

In one motion they started forward. Their speed increased with each horses' step. Faster and faster they came. Closer and closer. War cries, high and shrill, laced with the promise of death, reverberated through the mass of approaching Indians and pierced Sarah to her very core.

The Indians raced toward the wagon train. Their long black hair flew wildly around their shoulders. Reins dangled from the Indians' teeth, which allowed bows, arrows and war lances to be gripped and ready in their hands.

Ben shoved Sarah under the wagon. He jumped into its bed, grabbed the rifle and extra ammunition then scrambled under the wagon beside her. He checked the load on his rifle, took the Colt from Sarah and checked its load.

The Indians thundered to within about a hundred yards of the wagons--and stopped. They sat motionless for what seemed like an eternity as they looked over the wagon train and its inhabitants. Sarah felt like a chicken in a henhouse, gathered with the others for slaughter, as the hard glare of the braves slid over the wagon train. Her chest heaved, her heart pounded wildly and blood surged through her ears.

With a loud, high-pitched yell, the Indians broke formation and raced toward the immigrants. They shouted and waved their bows, lances and war clubs. Within moments, the wagons were surrounded. Arrows were unleashed and guns exploded. Women and children screamed and cried. Men shouted orders.

Sarah gripped the Colt, unable to fire, while Ben aimed the rifle at an approaching brave. The Indian fell fifteen feet from the wagon, his neck twisted unnaturally. Shots echoed from beneath and behind every wagon as the settlers tried desperately to ward off the attack.

In the distance Sarah heard Andrews' familiar voice cursing a blue streak. She turned and focused on the screaming man.

"You son-of-a-bitch red bastard!" he yelled. He stepped away from the wagon and shook his fist in the air. "You stole my horse. They hang people for that where I come from you no account, thieving red devil!"

Sarah scanned the Indians and spotted a young brave riding Andrews' prized dapple-gray mare that had disappeared the night before. The Indian waved his bow in open defiance of the raging man. Sarah watched in stark terror as the Indian brought his bow to chest level.

She turned in time to see Andrews step completely out from cover to fire at the brave who had stolen his horse. Another man tried to coax Andrews back, but he'd have no part of it. He was blind with rage.

An arrow tore through the air and ripped into the wagon master's chest. He fell to his knees, still yelling.

"You...stole...my..." His voice faded away. He slumped to the ground.

Sarah stifled the sob that threatened to explode from her throat. Would she and Ben end up like Andrews?

Ben's voice broke through her terror. "Pass the Colt. Reload the rifle!" he yelled. He threw the rifle in her direction and grabbed the Colt out of her shaking hands.

Sarah took the rifle and tried to reload, but couldn't see through her tears. The more she tried to push her fear away, the more the tears came. She turned the rifle around and around in her hands and tried desperately to crush the wetness from her eyes. The Colt exploded beside her and she found herself looking into the dead eyes of a half-naked Indian, his body contorted in death. She screamed.

Shooting continued all around her, but the firing beside her stopped.

"Sarah, pass me the rifle!"

She stared through tear-filled eyes at Ben.

"Sarah!" he yelled. He rolled onto his side and grabbed her by the shoulders.

"It's not loaded Ben. I can't do it. I just can't do it!" she screamed. Her hands and body shook with her fear.

"Sarah, listen to me. If you want to live through this day, you have to get control of yourself. I need you. I need your wits about you or else we won't live to see tomorrow. Now reload the Colt." He shoved the spent handgun into her hands, grabbed the rifle and reloaded the weapon.

The sound of pounding hooves drew Sarah's attention. An Indian jumped from his horse and landed in front of them.

"Ben!" Sarah pointed at the stocky brave who peered under the wagon at them. The Indian grabbed Ben by the shirt and dragged him out into the open. Ben managed to cling to the rifle as he was hauled to his feet.

A tomahawk swung out with incredible speed once Ben was on his feet, but he managed to deflect the blow with the rifle. Sarah screamed and watched in horror as the two men clashed. The Indian struck out again and again until Ben finally lost his grip on the rifle and it fell from his hands. The Indian walked forward. A sneer curled his lips before he hurled himself at Ben.

Sarah's mind raced. The handgun. Reload. She grabbed the pouch with the ammo for the Colt. But her eyes were so blurred she couldn't see. The bag fell out of her shaking hands and the tiny packages of lead balls and wadding spilled onto the ground. This is our lives! she screamed at herself. She had to reload the gun. She took a deep breath, crushed the tears from her eyes with a fist, retrieved the fallen ammunition and jammed one of the balls inside.

As she worked, Ben struggled for his life with the powerful Indian. The two men fell to the ground and rolled back and forth in an effort to gain possession of the tomahawk. Ben freed himself from the Indian's grip and scrambled away. The Indian lunged after him. The tomahawk slashed through the air and barely missed Ben's back. He rolled to the side, just as the weapon embedded itself in the ground where his body had been. Panting with exhaustion, Ben forced himself off the ground and, at the same time, pulled his knife from his boot.

"Now," he growled, "it's a little more even." Ben moved from foot to foot like a nervous cat, the knife tight in his right hand. The Indian stopped his forward movement when he saw Ben's knife and drew his back up straight.

Sarah watched in abject horror, the reloading of the Colt forgotten, as the two men faced off. The tomahawk whizzed through the air and narrowly missed Ben's shoulder. Ben hurled himself at the Indian, who easily sidestepped his knife. Ben pulled back in time to miss being slashed by the blade of a knife the Indian had drawn. He yelled like a savage himself and threw his body at the brave. His blade slid into the Indian's side. Blood saturated the buckskin shirt, turned it deep red, stunning the Indian because Ben had drawn first blood.

Ben stepped back to regain his balance and gasped for breath. The Indian muttered something then charged. He narrowly missed Ben's stomach before Ben jumped to the side, whirled and flung his knife out. The knife sliced the Indian's arm. With an angry yell, the Indian swung around and dove toward Ben, his eyes pinched almost closed in his rage. Ben flipped the knife to his other hand, thrust it forward and at the same time jumped sideways. He jammed the knife into the brave's belly and ripped upward. The Indian's blade dropped from his hand and a look of disbelief swept across his face. He grabbed Ben's shoulder, mumbled then slumped to the ground, his face in the dirt, his blood dripping from Ben's knife onto his boot.

Ben stared at the dead Indian. Sarah screamed his name and he jumped aside to miss being impaled by an arrow. He scrambled back under the wagon.

Sarah now realized if she wanted to survive this day, she had to keep her wits. She jammed the wadding and ball into the chamber, placed the firing cap on the nipple and the weapon was ready to fire. Ben slid out from under the wagon long enough to retrieve the rifle then scurried back under cover. The handgun reloaded, Ben fired. Sarah, her mind now sharp and intent on her task, reloaded the rifle. As Ben fired one weapon, she reloaded the other.

Sarah tried to keep her mind off the sounds echoing around her. The terrorized cries of women and children. The constant explosion of rifles and handguns. The agonized cries and moans of those who had been hit by a well-aimed arrow. The smell of spent powder and ball. The scent of death as it searched for its next victim.

She reached for another pouch of ammo for the Colt and her eyes flew open. There were none! She reached for ammunition for the rifle. It, too, was gone.

"Ben! It's gone! It's all gone!" She held out the empty boxes in front of her. "What do we do now?"

Ben looked into her eyes and she saw the sorrow etched on his face, saw the regret.

"Sarah, I'm sorry. So sorry," he managed before he pulled her into his embrace and held on tight.

Within moments, the Indians were on them. They were everywhere, came from all directions. Ben crawled out from under the wagon and waved his knife as a burly, heavy-set brave approached. Ben lunged his strong, six-foot frame at the Indian. The two met, chest-to-chest and fell to the ground as each tried to gain the advantage. They rolled and thrashed and, although Ben was strong, Sarah could see he was beginning to weaken. His breath was short and labored as he struggled with the Indian. He managed to free himself from the brave's grip and sprang to his feet, ready for the next attack.

It never came.

Ben staggered forward from the blow to his head and tried to keep from falling. Blood soaked the back of his head.

Sarah screamed. She knew she had to get to him and scrambled out from under the wagon. She ran toward her husband, but was jerked to a stop in mid-stride. Grabbed from behind, she used her broken nails on the bronzed hands that held her and pounded the arms with her fists.

She screamed Ben's name as she struggled to get out of the iron hold the brave had on her. She watched Ben try to stay conscious. Watched him try to force himself to his feet, only to fall back to his knees.

"Ben!" Sarah clawed at the Indian's arms but his grip only tightened. "Let me go! Let me go to him! I have to help him," she raged. She struggled like a mad woman, but the more she struggled, the tighter the faceless Indian's grip became.

She stopped in stupefied horror as the scene unfolded in seemingly slow motion. As Ben tried to drag himself to his feet, an arrow ripped through the air and into his back. He jerked upright then fell forward onto his hands. He raised his head and looked at Sarah, regret plain in his eyes. He tried to speak, but fell face down onto the dirt.

"No! Ben, no!" Again Sarah tried to wrench herself from her captor's grip, but to no avail.

She watched Ben's blood soak his shirt. She screamed and cried until she had no breath left. She kicked and scratched and pummeled, but nothing lessened the grip of the faceless Indian.

The Indian grabbed her like a sack of wheat and threw her over the back of a horse. She kicked her feet and hands, tried to slide off. The Indian mounted behind her and drove his heels into the animal's sides to send it racing away.

Sarah was beyond reason. Beyond caring what happened to her. She continued her tirade, unable to stop, unable to get the sight of Ben's lifeless body out of her mind. The Indian yelled at her. She struggled harder. Finally, she managed to slide free.

Her feet hit the ground and jarred every bone and tooth in her head as she rolled and tumbled crazily. Her arms and legs were scratched and torn by rocks and sticks. She felt like a tumbleweed bush tossed about in the wind as she careened out of control. Her head hit something solid. Lights exploded in her brain. She rolled to a stop and tried to focus her eyes, but everything was still spinning. Finally, unable to stop the blackness from coming, she closed her eyes and allowed the darkness to claim her.

Chapter Three

Sarah bounced. Up and down. Up and down. Where was she? She couldn't remember and struggled to regain consciousness. Daylight pushed its way through her closed eyelids. She came awake with a start and realized she was astride a galloping horse. Her head pounded, her vision was blurred. She touched the back of her head and felt a huge knot there. She remembered falling, rolling, hitting her head. Darkness.

Images cleared in her mind. She blinked her eyes and searched the landscape. Ahead lay the plains, but behind her... Her head snapped around, causing bright lights to flash behind her eyes as everything rushed back with astonishing clarity. The wagon train! It was engulfed in black smoke that billowed high into the sky. Faint wailing cries carried on the breeze.

Ben! Her mind screamed. Where was Ben? She recalled the arrow, Ben falling. She gulped for air, felt as though a rope were being tightened around her lungs. She tried to slide out of the saddle again, but the faceless Indian's grip grew tighter each time she moved, squeezing the breath out of her.

Harsh words rang in her ear and hot breath floated across her cheek. The more she struggled the tighter his hold became. Finally, unable to believe everything that had happened, she relaxed against the Indian's chest and wept. She wept for Ben. Wept for the senseless slaughter of the wagon train. And in fear for what was to come.

* * *

Hours later, her eyes puffed nearly closed and her brain numb, Sarah and her captor rode into a camp nestled beside a river. Dark-skinned women and children poked and jabbed at her exposed legs, laughed and spat at her.

Overwhelmed, she watched them through a haze but felt little of their torment. Ben was gone. The man she had loved with her entire being was dead. More riders entered camp, but she saw no other captives. Was she the only one still alive?

Fresh tears formed in the corners of her eyes; eyes already so swollen she could barely see. High-pitched laughter rang out around her. She felt pricks and pokes on her legs from the women and children, but ignored them.

The horse stopped before a round lodge and the Indian dropped her to the ground. Weak with exhaustion, fear and disbelief, she dropped to her knees. The Indian slid down behind her. She turned and for the first time stared into the face of her captor.

He was taller than most of the other braves. Long, straight hair fell just above his waist, hair as black as tar with several feathers woven into it. His face was smooth and sun-darkened with eyes as black as his hair. High cheekbones angled upward and a straight nose and squared chin gave him a look of strength and intimidation. Thick scars over each breast accentuated a powerful-looking chest that was painted yellow with red lightning bolt stripes on it. Only a loincloth covered his lower body. Bone bracelets adorned well-muscled arms.

Fear and hate consumed Sarah at the same time when she looked into the hard eyes of the man who had captured her. The man who had taken her away from Ben and her people. She glared into his expressionless face and anger overwhelmed her. With strength borne of fear, rage and desperation, she attacked him. She pounded his chest with her fists and kicked his legs. He didn't move.

Her rage poured out as she continued her assault. She screamed and scratched him. Still, he didn't move.

"Murderer!" she shrieked again and again until her voice cracked and she fell to her knees, exhausted.

"Why don't you just kill me and get it over with?" she gasped. "I don't want to live any longer. Not with you! Animals! Savages!" Her voice resounded throughout the camp and she heard laughter. But not from her captor. His eyes remained fixed on her, unyielding, unblinking and unfeeling.

She fell silent, her energy spent, her tears exhausted. Without warning, the Indian reached down, grabbed a handful of her hair and dragged her into the lodge. She tried to resist, but his strength was too great and her exhaustion too much. Pain exploded in her brain as she scrambled to keep up behind him.

He shoved her inside the tipi and onto a bed of furs then turned around and left her alone. Sarah didn't move. She couldn't, paralyzed by pain and fear. She scanned the lodge through tear-filled eyes. In the center of the tipi was a pit with the embers of a dead fire. Furs and buffalo hides made the bed she sat down on. On the opposite side of the lodge stood an odd arrangement of items, possibly weapons or cooking utensils, and several piles of wood. On the walls were pictures of Indians and buffalo and horses. All she needed was something sharp to cut her way out. But outside, the Indians were chanting and laughing. How could she escape when everyone in the village was right outside the door? She needed rest. Yes, once rested and in the darkness of night, she would escape.

Her mind spent in the day's ordeal, she could function no more and withdrew into unconsciousness...

* * *

Sarah woke with a start. Drums pounded and shrill chanting rang in her ears. She pushed herself up from the furs and noticed a fire had been lit. How long had she been asleep? An hour, two, twenty? She had no concept of time.

Still groggy, Sarah stumbled to the opening of the tipi and pushed the flap up enough to peek out. Her throat constricted and her hand flew to her mouth, unable to stifle the scream that exploded from her chest. The villagers danced drunkenly around a huge fire, long, thin poles gripped in their hands. And from those poles human scalps flapped and dangled. The women sang high-pitched songs and the men seemed to be telling stories of the attack on the wagon train while they stuffed their mouths with food. The braves laughed and pushed each other playfully. They drank. Sarah stared, mesmerized, as their faces took on ghostly forms in the eerie glow of the fire.

Sarah was paralyzed. Her skin crawled and bile rose in her throat. With a will of their own, her eyes followed the scalps as they swayed from the poles carried by the celebrating Indians. A horrible thought seeped into her mind. One of those scalps could be Ben's. She gagged and stumbled backwards into the lodge.

Horror and revulsion welled up inside her and she screamed out her anger, helplessness and fear. She groped her way back to the bed and fell onto the furs, pounding their softness, crying.

"Why, God? Why? Why am I alive? How could you do this?"

The flap swung open and the Indian stepped inside.

"Kill me and get it over with!" she shrieked. "I don't want to be raped or beaten or be your slave. Do you understand? I'd rather die than be here with you!"

He walked toward her, his gait slow and deliberate, and knelt beside her. He reached for her hair, but she jerked away.

"Don't touch me," she said in a low, controlled voice. "Don't you ever touch me."

He watched her in questioning silence, his eyes almost gentle. If she hadn't known better, she'd think he felt pity or remorse.

He said something Sarah didn't understand, but it was gentle. Again, he leaned toward her and reached for her hair. She slid as far away from him as she could until her back was against the hide wall of the lodge. She was trapped. There was nowhere she could go.

His hand slid into her hair then stroked the skin on her face. His hand was rough and she recoiled. His dark eyes moved from her face down her neck to her body and he touched the tattered material of her dress.

The Indian stood and strode to the opening of the lodge. He spoke to someone then walked back to Sarah. Again she tried to pull herself as far away from him as she could, trying to make herself smaller. A few moments later a woman appeared, handed the Indian a bowl, then left. He in turn offered the bowl to Sarah.

Her stomach churned. She was sickened by what she'd seen outside and pushed the bowl away. The Indian offered it several times, but she pushed it away again and again. Finally with a grunt, he put it beside her and left the lodge.

Outside, the noise rose to a frenzy. She couldn't imagine people laughing and joking about the slaughter she'd witnessed. How could human beings be so evil and heartless?

Alone in the lodge with her exhaustion and fear, she fell into a troubled sleep. Tall, bronzed demons with long black hair chased her. She ran and ran, but got nowhere. They were always behind her. She cried out for help, but none came. In the distance she saw a vague form. Ben. He beckoned her from across the prairie. She ran faster, but couldn't reach him. Finally, he faded away into the darkness.

It was nearly daylight when her eyes opened again. She sat bolt upright. The motion caused her head to spin and pound. The cuts and scratches and dried blood on her body pulled and ached. Her eyes flew open when she saw the Indian asleep beside her and she scrambled away, clutching the fur blanket to her chest. He woke and black hooded eyes stared back at her. He flung off his fur and stood to his full, naked form. He picked up his loincloth, wrapped it around him and strode from the lodge, a slight smile curling his lips.

Sarah stared after him. Her heart pounded. He had slept with her. Beside her. She felt invaded and shivered with revulsion. Thank God he hadn't raped her. She closed her eyes and said a prayer of thanks.

Gathering her composure, she scanned the lodge. The bowl of stew was still beside her. Although it had been almost a full day since she'd last eaten, her stomach did flip-flops at the thought of eating. She wouldn't give in, she promised herself. She would die of starvation before she took nourishment from these people.

She needed to relieve herself. If she tried to leave the lodge, what would happen? To the point of soiling herself, she had to find out.

Sarah lifted the flap and peeked out. It was quiet. No one was in sight. Maybe they were so hung over from their celebration, they wouldn't notice if she just walked out of here. Hope flickered. Perhaps she was no more than an oddity to be gawked at for a short time until interest was lost. She swung the buffalo hide away from the door, stepped outside and headed toward a clump of bushes not far away.

Her task completed, she surveyed the area around her. Still no one had appeared. She could hardly believe her good fortune. She crept toward the sounds of horses. If the Indians were too hung over to follow her, maybe she could ride off before anyone knew she was gone. Then she remembered her captor was awake somewhere, but nowhere in sight. She had to try. She'd heard what Indians did to captive white women. With a last glance around her, she stole toward the horses as quickly as she could.

Inside a makeshift corral with fifty or so other horses, Sarah spotted Midnight, who must have been taken in the attack. She said a prayer of thanks and headed toward the animal. The black snorted when he sensed her presence. When she reached him she stroked his nose to quiet him.

The other horses were becoming agitated so she quickly led Midnight through the makeshift gate into the open. She grabbed the horse's mane to pull herself onto his back. But he was too tall and she was too weak. Spotting a protruding stump, she led Midnight to it and flung herself onto his back.

"We're getting out of here, boy. Now," she whispered into his ear.

She pointed him out of camp. Once outside the circle of lodges, she prompted Midnight into a gallop. The camp fell away behind her and excitement coursed through her.

Only moments away, she heard the pounding of hooves behind her. She turned around and cold fear washed over her. Her heels slammed into Midnight's flank. The Indian was in pursuit, and gaining.

Midnight's nostrils flared and his head bobbed with each stride as he sucked air in and out of his powerful body. Sarah slid down on his back and held on. Afraid she might slow the animal down, she dared not look behind her again. They raced toward some woods two hundred yards away.

If we can make it to those woods, maybe we can lose him, she hoped as she clung to the heavily muscled animal with her legs and arms.

Midnight thundered on as though he understood the desperation of her situation.

They reached the trees and the horse slowed only enough to leap between two towering oaks, almost unseating his rider, before he thundered into the woods' interior.

Sarah's hopes rose with each stride of the animal under her. She guided him between the trees, hoping to gain some time. Searching for a hiding place, she heard the other horse and rider crash into the woods. Leaves and branches crackled and she looked over her shoulder to see exactly how far away the Indian was. His horse leapt over a fallen tree and headed in her direction.

"Damn! Go, Midnight. Go!" She thrust her heels into the horse's sides, her hope for an easy escape crushed.

The pounding of hooves grew louder behind her. How could he be gaining so fast? Then it dawned on her. He probably knew every inch of every tree and bush that grew here. This might as well be his backyard.

Her heels again slammed into Midnight's sides and the horse surged forward. He leapt over bushes and squeezed between trees, scraping and banging Sarah's legs. Ahead, she spotted bright light. The end of the tree line. If she could reach it, maybe she could outrun her pursuer.

Intent on getting through the trees, Sarah realized she no longer heard the horse and rider behind her. She turned and hope surged through her. The Indian was nowhere in sight, but she dared not slow down. Not yet. She guided Midnight around a huge tree and ran right into the Indian and his pony.

The brave's dark eyes bore into hers. Not ready to give up the fight, she yanked Midnight's mane and turned him around. The horse jumped into action. But the Indian was right beside them this time. She noticed a looped rope dangling from his hand. They broke through the tree line and he angled his horse right next to Sarah. With a triumphant shout, he threw the rope over Midnight's head.

"No!" Sarah shouted as the rope slid into place.

The brave reined his mount to a stop and Midnight stopped behind him. Unwilling to give up, Sarah slid off his back and ran on foot back into the trees. She grabbed her skirt and hiked it up above her knees to keep it from tangling in her legs.

But she was a split second too late. The fabric snagged on some briars and it jerked out of her hands. She tumbled to the ground in a heap. Seconds later, the Indian was above her. He bent and offered his hand, a triumphant smirk on his face. She slapped the hand away.

The Indian backed away and Sarah untangled herself. He pointed toward Midnight, who stood with the rope still hanging from his neck. She grabbed up her skirt and returned to her horse.

Her arms circled the horse's neck. "We gave it one hell of a try didn't we, fella?"

The Indian grunted and pointed again at Midnight. Now angrier than frightened, Sarah grabbed the horse's mane and tried to pull herself onto his back, but couldn't. She tried several times, but was unable to pull herself over. The Indian watched with an unconcealed grin of superiority before he walked over and placed his hands on her waist. She whirled on him as though burned.

"I told you once, don't touch me! I can damn well do it myself. I certainly don't need your help to mount a horse!"

The Indian's eyes grew hard and angry. He shouted at her. She turned her back to him and looked for a rock or stump to help her. But, although trees surrounded them, there was nothing at hand to use as a stepping block.

Filled with despair, she tried again to pull herself onto Midnight's back. Again she failed. She rested her head against the horse's belly and drew in deep breaths.

The Indian grabbed her waist and threw her onto Midnight's back. She grabbed his mane to steady herself then turned and glared at the man who stood beside her. She couldn't read the odd look in his eyes.

Sarah remembered the rope around Midnight's neck. Was it still there, dangling loose? Damn. The Indian had it in his hand.

"Damn you," she hissed.

The brave grabbed his own horse's reins but, much to Sarah's horror, he mounted behind her. His breath bore down on her neck and she squirmed in rebellion when his arm slipped around her waist and he headed Midnight back in the direction of camp. She tried to push his arm away, but his grip remained tight.

Bristling with resentment and filled with hate for the man who held her prisoner, Sarah sat stock still atop Midnight when the Indian finally slid out from behind her. He led Midnight and his unwilling rider back through camp, which had come alive during their absence.

It seemed to Sarah as though he returned for the first time with his prize all over again. The women poked and prodded and the children pointed and snickered. But this time Sarah sat proud and tall. She'd no longer cower in front of them.

When they stopped in front of his lodge, he reached up to pull her from Midnight's back.

She slapped his hand. "I don't need your help."

He spoke, his voice deep and harsh, then grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her off Midnight's back. She hit the ground hard, but managed to stay on her feet.

"Let go of me you savage! I won't be your slave. And I won't do as you say! Leave me alone!" She tried to jerk away from him, but couldn't.

He hauled her up into his arms. She kicked and screamed and pounded him with her fists. She heard laughter from those who watched. He carried her into the lodge and dropped her heavily onto the bed of furs.

He hovered over her, his hands on his hips. He just looked at her, as though trying to decide what to do with her now. After a minute or two of silence, he pointed at her and then at the dead fire in the center of the lodge.

"If you want a fire, Indian, I suggest you build it yourself." She sneered the words. "I told you I won't be your slave." Fire of her own burned in her belly.

He yanked her up by her wrists and led her to a pile of kindling wood. He forced her hands around several pieces of the small, dry tinder then led her back to the blackened fire pit. He pointed and spoke.

"No, I told you. I won't." She let the wood drop to the dirt floor far from the fire pit.

Muttering more to himself than to Sarah, the Indian picked up the kindling that littered the floor and placed it back in her hands. He shoved them over the pit and forced her to drop the wood into it. Then, as if leading a dull-witted child, he led her back to the pile of wood, from which he gathered several larger pieces. He tried to load them into her arms, but they, too, tumbled to the ground with a crash. For an instant, anger exploded in his eyes, but then he grinned and nodded.

He grabbed the logs at his feet and again tried to pile them into her arms. Again she let them fall. He tried for several minutes before he grew weary. Sarah couldn't help but smile when he struck the flint rock to start the kindling afire before he added the larger pieces.

He looked up at her. His lips were pinched tight and his eyes snapped with anger. He turned and strode from the lodge but returned several minutes later with a pot filled with a stew of some kind. He placed the pot over the fire then left again.

Sarah sat down on the bed and thought hard. What next? How do I get out of here? Can I get out of here? Her mind was spinning when the Indian returned with bread and bowls. Did he believe she would eat? He left again then returned with what looked like a dress draped across his arm. He threw it on her lap, and spoke.

Sarah didn't understand the words, but she picked up the dress. Its softness surprised her. Light tan in color, she supposed it was made from the hide of a deer. The workmanship was detailed and precise. He pointed at the dress, then at her.

She shook her head. "Oh no. No. I will not put this on." She threw the dress back at him and shook her head. "I'm no Indian squaw. I'm a white woman and I will wear my own clothes. I won't wear it."

He scooped the dress off the floor and leaned toward her. His muscular form threatened, but she continued to defy him. She was beyond reason. Beyond knowing she should be afraid of him instead of defying him.

"I will not put it on, I tell you." She scooted back against the wall of the lodge as he inched toward her.

He reached for her tattered dress. She slapped his hand away. He reached with the other hand. She slapped it away, too. He stood to his full height, dominating and demanding and chills ran down her back.

He spoke again, his voice deep and hard. He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her to her feet.

"No!" She pushed at his unyielding chest. "It stinks."

His face moved to within an inch of hers and his hot breath seemed to suffocate her. Again he spoke, but this time his voice was soft. A smile grew on his lips and crept up into his eyes.

Without warning he grabbed Sarah's dress and tore it away in two strokes. She screamed and tried to cover herself with her hands, although the Indian's eyes never wavered from her face. He spoke again.

"No!" she screamed. "I'm not an Indian. I'm Sarah Walters. Not some squaw!"

He reached for her, but she jerked away. He dropped the dress at her feet and scooped up the remains of what had been her dress. He turned to leave the lodge, but not before Sarah saw the satisfaction in his face.

She wanted to kill him. Wanted to disappear from the face of the earth and the life that now claimed her. A cold chill passed over her. She had to put the dress on. There was nothing else she could do. She picked it up and its softness again surprised her. Once over her head, it slid easily over her body and molded to her form, its musky smell only slightly offensive.

She examined the porcupine quill beads that decorated the bodice and waist that ran in neat, circular patterns, one inside the other. It was a fine piece of work, she thought, remembering the time and effort spent making her own dress, now a shredded rag. Defeated, she slumped down onto the furs.

A delicious aroma wafted through the air to interrupt her thoughts. The stew bubbled in the pot and she got up and walked toward it. The smell set her stomach rolling. She'd never been so hungry in her life. She lifted the bone utensil and stirred the stew. Again her stomach rolled. Angrily, she threw the spoon back into the pot. She wouldn't eat! Not now. Not ever.

The hide door burst open and the Indian stood in its arch. He entered, pointed at the food then to her.

"Yuta."

Sarah scrambled away from the towering Indian and shook her head.

"I'm not hungry," she lied. "Not for your food."

He stepped toward her. She slid backwards. Again he pointed and shouted, "Yuta."

Again she shook her head. In two strides he was over her, his eyes dark with anger. He grabbed her arm and dragged her to the fire.

"No. I don't want any. I'd rather die than eat your food or live with you," she screamed. She dug her heels into the dirt floor, but it did little to stop her from being dragged to where he wanted her.

He shoved her down onto the furs then scooped out a bowl of stew.

"I'm not going to eat that." Their eyes met. Sarah gritted her teeth. "You can't make me eat."

The Indian smiled.

Sarah's skin crawled.

Her cheeks hurt from the pressure of his hand on her chin when he forced her mouth open. She tried to shake free, but his grip was firm and unwavering.

"No," she ground out through clenched teeth. "I won't."

Within seconds of her denial her mouth was full of stew and his hand was clamped tight over her lips. She tried to spit it out, but he wouldn't let her. Unable to help herself, she swallowed. Her stomach churned violently and she threw it all back up.

He tried to jump away, but wasn't fast enough and stew dripped from his chest. He glared at Sarah with eyes so hard and black he looked like the devil himself. But Sarah's resolve was strong.

The Indian muttered to himself, wiped off the food and tried again. He clamped her chin and forced another spoonful of food into her mouth. Again, it was ejected.

Shaking with anger, Sarah glared at him. He could not make her eat. She would die first, she promised herself.

She forced her teeth together against his next assault, but he merely exerted more pressure on her cheeks and jaw. This time she intentionally spit the food back at him.

His anger exploded. He grabbed her by the shoulders and squeezed her so tight she could already feel the bruises his grip would leave. But she threw her head back in defiance. He lifted her off the floor and shook her till her teeth rattled. Lines of anger and frustration formed on the Indian's face as he stared at Sarah. He yelled at her, his nose nearly touching hers, but she didn't cry out.

He threw her onto the pallet where she landed with a grunt. He stepped toward her, a menacing look on his face. She took a deep breath, forced her back straight and squared her shoulders. She shook her head. She would not eat.

Again he made her open her mouth and again she gagged on the food he shoved inside. Tears stung her eyes, but she would not eat, could not.

The Indian finally gave up. With a vicious glare he stood up, shouted at her one last time, then stalked out of the lodge.

Sarah sighed in relief. She had won this battle, but there would be more. Of that she was certain. She pulled her knees up to her chin, circled them with her arms and closed her eyes. She would escape. Even if she had to die to do so.

Her head snapped up and she realized she didn't want to die. But she didn't want to live among these people as a slave or God only knew what? A shiver ran up her back. Her only hope was to escape. Her mind started to whirl. That was the answer, the only answer. Escape. She'd live with them long enough to gain their trust in order gain her freedom. She would live--to escape.

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