Silver Creek - G.L. Snodgrass Page 0,27

He well knew her inner strength. And her laugh made the world seem right. But it was the combination of all of these things mixed with her innate kindness that pulled at him.

“What about Kwe’-Nal, Red hawk?” he asked.

Her eyes opened in surprise. “You do dig around, don’t you?”

He shrugged as he watched her closely.

She smiled then said, “Uncle Tom found him, about a half-mile north of us. He was just a boy. At least by our standards but a full warrior in their eyes.”

“That man was born a warrior, I would wager,” Luke said.

“Yes, well, he was hurt. He had been shot in the hip. He never told us who or how. But the wound had festered and he couldn’t walk. Uncle said it looked like he’d drug himself a mile or so before he came across him.” She shrugged again. “We took him in, patched him up. It must have been a month or so. Then one day he was gone like smoke in the wind.”

Luke nodded, silently encouraging her to go on.

“There’s not much more. But a couple of months later, two unshod ponies showed up in our corral. It was his way of repaying a debt, I guess. After that, he would stop by every six months or so, when he and his people were in the area. When my uncle thought they might be close, he’d stock up on coffee and trade it for furs and hides. Not a lot, but enough.”

“A month in a small cabin,” Luke said. “That must have been interesting.”

She looked at him strangely then shrugged. “The way I remember it was him constantly pestering me to learn English. He started out barely knowing any but he was doing pretty good when he left. I think that is why he used to come back so often, he wanted to keep in practice.”

“Maybe,” Luke said. “Met him just a bit ago, he and his wife and boy.”

“Ha-witch-e?” she asked, obviously surprised. “Gray dove? He brought her into town. I wish I would have known.”

“I’m pretty sure they are well on their way back to their campgrounds by now. I don’t imagine this is a welcoming place for them.”

Becky’s brow furrowed, as she nodded, obviously upset at missing them. She was about to ask another question when the restaurant door slammed open, spilling Pap Wilkins into the dining room.

The old man bent as he tried to catch his breath then looked up with a white face and said, “They done killed the sheriff.”

Chapter Eleven

Luke shot from his chair as he rushed past the old man.

“Luke!” Becky called after him but he ignored her. He’d been trained to charge into a fight, never give them time to regroup.

When he hit the dusty street, he saw a dozen people milling outside the Red House. He checked to make sure his gun was clear and easy in his holster as he ran towards the crowd. As he approached, he scanned for threats. But there was no one who appeared to be a danger.

Knowing this town though, he well knew that danger could appear from any direction. A rage began to build inside of him. That oh so familiar anger that threatened to explode whenever he fought. It was only because of the lessons he’d learned in the war that he was able to keep it under control. His senses heightened. Colors grew brighter, sounds louder. He became more aware of strangeness, anything out of the normal.

When he reached the group, he pushed his way through. Sheriff Reed lay in the dirt with a young man bent over him holding a bandage to his head.

“What happened?” Luke asked Jack Strumph, the hulking blacksmith.

The blacksmith turned with an angry glare. “Mark Felton shot him.”

Luke felt his blood turn cold as he looked down at the man in the street. His gun was still in his holster. Why? Had Felton given him no warning? Or had the sheriff gone in thinking it would be easy? No, surely not. He hadn’t struck Luke as stupid.

The man tending Reed looked up and said, “He’s still alive. Help me get him into my place.”

Several men helped carry the sheriff to the McAdam’s Barbershop. “The closest thing we got to a doctor,” Strumph told him. “But he’s better than most I seen.”

He followed for a moment with an overwhelming need to talk to the sheriff. Was this related to Becky’s ranch or had the sheriff been shot for some other reason? More frustration,