Read Online Moon Over Montana (McCutcheon Family Series Book 5) by Caroline Fyffe - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Caroline Fyffe
Ads: Link
as the years passed. Her two mothers had spread the good medicine her father had shared with them about him, her powerful half-white brother. The white woman, Luk’s mother, had been bartered for return many moons after she’d been given to her father. Her white husband had come with a string of fine horses, so many that no man would have been able to turn them down. To avoid bloodshed, her father had agreed, and delivered his third wife back into the hands of her white husband, but not before he’d been told in a dream that she was carrying his son. A very powerful son. He’d hated to relinquish her, but he could see in her eyes from the moment she heard the name Macatceen, she’d never really been his to keep.
Her father had traveled this route several times to see his half-white son, never thinking she’d one day do the same.
Now it was her turn to see her brother. What would Luk Macatceen do when he saw her? Would he recognize the slant to her eyes and the high set to her cheekbones as his? Their father said she held a strong resemblance to him. Excitement surged within when she thought of the meeting. It was fortunate Luk’s mother had taught her father some of the white language, which he’d passed on to Fox Dancing.
Well, she’d never get there if she stood around daydreaming about him. She took out her knife and dug at the base of a reed, pulling up a stalk with three tubers attached to the root. She continued until she had a handful, then went back to the stream to wash them in the sparkling cold water.
Taking a bite, she chewed, wishing the rubbery root was a fresh slice of elk meat, hot from the coals.
Men’s voices drifted across the water to where she stood.
Instantly, she dropped to her stomach.
She flattened herself out on the cold ground, her heart jerking wildly, painfully in her chest. Glancing over to her horse, asleep on the bank, she spotted her quiver and bow where she’d left them on a rock.
Where were they? She picked up her head just enough to scan the opposite side of the stream. Blood pulsed in her ears, making it difficult to hear anything else. So far from home, they were sure to be white. Being caught would mean a slow and dishonorable death—one she was not ready to face.
She dragged in a raspy breath, praying her horse didn’t nicker when she heard the other animals approaching.
Through narrowed eyes, Fox Dancing spotted the riders. Not far, and coming in her direction. Leather cases hung from their saddles, carrying steely gray rifles.
If she didn’t go now, she’d be found. She was surprised they hadn’t seen her already.
Fox Dancing pushed to her feet. Before the men even saw her, she’d gathered her weapons and vaulted onto her mare.
A shout went up.
She recognized the word Indian , then the word squaw . She had her mare turned and into a full gallop before she dared to glance over her shoulder.
With gleeful faces, the white men were charging across the stream at the same time they reached for their rifles. Leaning onto the neck of her mare, she flung back her arm, slapping her horse’s flank with her bow.
Her mare surged forward. Pulling the leather rein, Fox Dancing guided her horse sharply to the left and ascended a steep embankment that the white dogs would never be brave enough to ride. She clung to her mare’s long mane, squeezing with her legs when she felt herself slipping back.
Trees and rocks blocked her path, impeding her getaway. Her mare slowed, heaving beneath her as she struggled to make the climb.
The crashing sound behind told her the men were still giving chase. Laughter reached her ears, then a curse. A bullet zipped past her head and splintered a branch next to her face. Had she fled Painted Bear Stone just to be dishonored at the hands of white dogs and then killed?
She wouldn’t consider that option! She’d meet her white brother. She’d seen the meeting in a dream.
Her horse, breathing hard, finally crested the embankment. Fox
Her father had traveled this route several times to see his half-white son, never thinking she’d one day do the same.
Now it was her turn to see her brother. What would Luk Macatceen do when he saw her? Would he recognize the slant to her eyes and the high set to her cheekbones as his? Their father said she held a strong resemblance to him. Excitement surged within when she thought of the meeting. It was fortunate Luk’s mother had taught her father some of the white language, which he’d passed on to Fox Dancing.
Well, she’d never get there if she stood around daydreaming about him. She took out her knife and dug at the base of a reed, pulling up a stalk with three tubers attached to the root. She continued until she had a handful, then went back to the stream to wash them in the sparkling cold water.
Taking a bite, she chewed, wishing the rubbery root was a fresh slice of elk meat, hot from the coals.
Men’s voices drifted across the water to where she stood.
Instantly, she dropped to her stomach.
She flattened herself out on the cold ground, her heart jerking wildly, painfully in her chest. Glancing over to her horse, asleep on the bank, she spotted her quiver and bow where she’d left them on a rock.
Where were they? She picked up her head just enough to scan the opposite side of the stream. Blood pulsed in her ears, making it difficult to hear anything else. So far from home, they were sure to be white. Being caught would mean a slow and dishonorable death—one she was not ready to face.
She dragged in a raspy breath, praying her horse didn’t nicker when she heard the other animals approaching.
Through narrowed eyes, Fox Dancing spotted the riders. Not far, and coming in her direction. Leather cases hung from their saddles, carrying steely gray rifles.
If she didn’t go now, she’d be found. She was surprised they hadn’t seen her already.
Fox Dancing pushed to her feet. Before the men even saw her, she’d gathered her weapons and vaulted onto her mare.
A shout went up.
She recognized the word Indian , then the word squaw . She had her mare turned and into a full gallop before she dared to glance over her shoulder.
With gleeful faces, the white men were charging across the stream at the same time they reached for their rifles. Leaning onto the neck of her mare, she flung back her arm, slapping her horse’s flank with her bow.
Her mare surged forward. Pulling the leather rein, Fox Dancing guided her horse sharply to the left and ascended a steep embankment that the white dogs would never be brave enough to ride. She clung to her mare’s long mane, squeezing with her legs when she felt herself slipping back.
Trees and rocks blocked her path, impeding her getaway. Her mare slowed, heaving beneath her as she struggled to make the climb.
The crashing sound behind told her the men were still giving chase. Laughter reached her ears, then a curse. A bullet zipped past her head and splintered a branch next to her face. Had she fled Painted Bear Stone just to be dishonored at the hands of white dogs and then killed?
She wouldn’t consider that option! She’d meet her white brother. She’d seen the meeting in a dream.
Her horse, breathing hard, finally crested the embankment. Fox
Similar Books
