Edge of the Wilderness - By Stephanie Grace Whitson Page 0,38

mule and you will probably never be heard from again.”

Otter sighed. “We have come a long road since we were two young braves with no problem bigger than getting Genevieve LaCroix to notice us when we visited her father’s trading post.” He shook his head. “These are bad times for a Dakota warrior. The white man’s God gives His power to the white soldiers and they defeat us everywhere we go.”

“He is not the ‘white man’s God,’” Daniel said quietly. “He is your God as well—even though you have not acknowledged Him.”

Otter pondered what Daniel had said. “Tell me something,” he asked abruptly. “Why do you care about this God? Has He given you anything you wanted? Has He protected you from danger? Has He made the white man give your farm back? Have you got the woman you wanted?” Otter spat on the ground. “What kind of God sees His children suffering and gives yet more power to evil men to make them suffer more?” He put his hand on Daniel’s shoulder and shook his friend gently. “Answer one of those questions, my friend, and perhaps we will talk more of your God.”

Daniel opened his mouth to say something but his words disappeared in the sound of gunfire. Otter’s eyes opened wide as a spot of red appeared on his chest. He took one step backward and crumpled to the earth.

Daniel whirled around to see Jensen standing a few feet away, his smoking gun at his side. Screaming a protest, Daniel lowered his head and charged like a bull. He heard the air escape from Jensen’s lungs, heard a crackling sound as two ribs gave way. He landed atop Jensen, meeting with no resistance as he grabbed the gun out of the man’s hand and flung it as far away as he could. Making a fist he landed a crushing blow to Jensen’s jaw. The soldier went limp.

Otter was trying to get up, but by the time Daniel knelt at his side, the red spot on his chest was spreading and Otter was coughing up blood. He put his hand on Daniel’s forearm and stared into his friend’s eyes.

Daniel gripped Otter’s forearm and returned his gaze for what seemed like an eternity. When at last he let go and closed his friend’s eyes, he sat back on the earth, covered his face with his hands, and wept.

“Don’t,” Daniel growled. “Don’t touch him.” He had just come back from rounding up his mule and Otter’s stallion to find Jensen standing over Otter’s body.

Jensen whirled around. “You stay away from me!” he mumbled. Fear shone in his eyes as he coughed, grimacing in pain and clutching his side. “I heard what you said. That savage was a friend of yours. You were going to let him go. When Captain Willets hears—”

Daniel grabbed Jensen’s shirt collar. “When Captain Willets hears what? That you wouldn’t have gotten within five miles of those lost horses without the help of a savage? That you nearly fainted out of fear when you saw your first real Dakota warrior? That you shot an unarmed man?” He stared coldly into Jensen’s eyes before letting go of his shirt collar. He shoved the mule’s reins into Jensen’s hand. “You’re going to tell Captain Willets that a small war party stole the horses. You’re going to tell him that I sent you back to get the other scouts and that we’ll report back to him tomorrow about what we find. Then you’re going to go to Robert and Big Amos and ask them to meet me at ‘the farm’.” He glared at Jensen. “Of course, if you prefer, you are welcome to come with me to get our horses back. My friend here mentioned only four or five other braves waiting just across the river.”

Jensen blanched. He rubbed his jaw. With a grunt, he climbed up onto the mule’s back and was gone.

Daniel hefted Otter’s body over the stallion’s back, then led the horse into the shade and let him drink noisily from a nearby creek while he thought. Finally, he leaped up behind Otter’s body. He barely touched the stallion’s sides with his boots and the animal moved into an easy, smooth lope.

Jeb Grant called “whoa” to his team and shaded his eyes with his hand to watch the lone figure approach. His heart lurched when he realized the rider was probably Indian. He had some kind of blanket rolled up in front of him. Nice horse. Mopping his