Tillie Bonner knew she was past any possibility of escaping and that she would not last much longer. She had prepared herself for death, having prayed almost constantly during the past week since the attack. She prayed for her children more than for herself. Thinking of her children had helped her endure the harsh treatment and the torture of her captors.
Tillie regretted ever bringing her children out in this evil land. The torment of not knowing what she had subjected her children to was more than she could bear. They were probably dead because of her.
To die was gain. Before the end of the day, reunion with her children in the loving arms of her Lord would put her heart at peace. Tillie longed for death, not for the physical pain and suffering, but the reunion with her children.
At the beginning of her captivity, she had prayed for deliverance, thinking her children were out there somewhere waiting for her on the big red horse. Still, God had chosen not to deliver, and she had finally said, ‘Not my will but yours, Lord,’ and put the whole matter into His hands.
Tillie was a dreamer and had high hopes for their future. She had envisioned giving this sin-filled world two young and energetic lives that would make a difference for good. But that was not to be...somewhere out there in this beautiful wilderness, their bones lay a testament to her hollow hopes and dreams. She had brought them out into this savage land only to perish a horrible death at the hands of wild Indians or beasts and that one thing grieved her more than her present condition. Her adventurous nature always ready to strike out on a new direction had cost her family their lives. Now she had no reason to live.
The squaws chattered at her in their language, beating her with their cane poles until she would pass out, or they grew tired of their hateful game. Today they lead her back to the river’s edge where the buffalo hides hung. She would try scraping the hides with only a dull piece of metal from a wagon wheel or a muscle shell. They pulled her along with the rope tied around her neck. Every time she fell, the squaw would drag her along until she was able to regain her footing.
Elam watched the procession from his new hiding place. A twinge of anger shot through him as he watched her fall, get up and fall again. All the while the fat squaw kept a tight pull on the rope while two others squaws beat her with cane poles.
‘How evil wuz this tribe? They had no compassion. Any poor soul that had fallen into their hands must have longed for death before it came,’ Elam reflected.
The Indian got up from the log where he had sat, letting the wind dry him off, leaving the holster and pistol laying on the log. Uncoiling the whip, he swished it back and forth as he walked out to meet the squaws. When they saw him, the squaws paraded their victim as before a mighty warrior. The Indians spoke in their dialect as the squaw relaxed the rope tension and stepped away from Tillie, who slumped to the ground heaving heavily from the choking. Suddenly in poor but articulate English, the Indian brave addressed Tillie, “You not lib’ much long--white eyes. I hab you hair on spear. You want lib, you be my squaw, din you lib. You not be my squaw, I hab rest of yellow hair--now you say!”
Elam readied his bow and notched an arrow. He was shocked that the Indian could speak English, and he knew from his course voice she was given an ultimatum. If she refused his advances, he would scalp her and let her die a slow and painful death.
Fully extended, the arrow sat against his cheek. Elam followed the Indian as he moved back and forth in front of Tillie. The only shot he had between two saplings was, at best, a lucky shot. His position was not good, but with the slightest movement, they would see him and the Indians would sound the alarm. He needed to silence these four, which would give him time to get her down the river before they were detected.
Tillie raised herself from the ground and slowly came to a standing position. She knew her life would soon be over and she was ready for the inevitable. The back of her shirt was wet with blood and her nose was bleeding. Finally erect, she spoke.
“You speak English, so you have been associated with people who have told you of our ways. I will die here today because I am in your power to kill. If I live, I would never be yours or anyone else’s squaw. I have seen the evil that your people have committed. You kill old people and helpless children and I want you to know that it does not bring power to you but shame. Do you understand my words?” Tillie asked firmly.
For a long time, the Indian stood studying the face of the beautiful white woman. She was not intimidated by the power of life and death that he held over her. Behind him, the squaws had not grasped what she had said to him, but they understood from her actions and speech that she spurned him, and they began to giggle. Suddenly the warrior became rigid, and in his rage, he jerked his knife from his belt.
Seeing no other option, Elam stepped from hiding and let the arrow fly. The element of surprise did not last long as a fat squaw turned and rushed him with a knife drawn. Just in time, he let another fly and the shaft completely disappeared in her thick body. Suddenly there was chaos as the two remaining squaws turned to see Elam towering over them. Fear and shock took hold and they began to run away. The brave had taken the first arrow in the soft fleshy tissue of his side. It had gone straight through. More shocked than hurt, he turned and saw the big man as he loosed his second arrow at the fat squaw. With great skill, he threw his knife. The blade sunk deep into a tree beside Elam. With no time to notch another arrow, he swung the heavy bow hitting the onrushing Indian across the head. This battle was over as the Indian dropped, hitting his head on another rock at Elam’s feet. Elam turned, but it was too late, the squaws had gotten away. In a few minutes the whole camp would be aware of his presence.
Elam picked up the whip that the Indian had dropped and looked at Tillie. “I think there be company a-comin’ a-fore long, Miss Tillie. We better be a-gittin’ out of here,” Elam urged. Tillie stood dumbfounded at the events that had just unfolded. Elam quickly cut the cords off her. “Mary and Danny are safe, and I came fer ya.”
New life was suddenly pumped into Tillie with those words as she fell against him and uttered the children’s names. Elam remembered the lance with the yellow hair and pink bow. He quickly reached down, cut a braid from the fallen Indian's hair and stuffed it in his pouch.
“We must get away from here now; company be a-comin’,” he said. Picking Tillie up by the waist, he ran into the fast-moving water. As he passed the log, he picked up the pistol belt.
“These har’ may come in handy. We gonna’ need all the firepower we can git,” Elam said.
“Those are mine,” she said.
As the water rushed by Tillie, it turned red from the dried blood that began to rinse from her clothing. Elam realized that she had taken much more abuse than he had thought. In a few minutes, the cold water cleared up as the blood from her clothing washed away. He could hear the alarm in the camp now and their chance of getting away without being seen was not possible.
“Well now, this changes my plans, I wuz a-hopin’ to git downriver a-fore we war announced!” Elam said.
Wading out to the sunken canoe, he quickly raised it from the bottom. Behind him, Tillie quenched her raging thirst standing in the chest-high water. Immediately he lodged the crosses in the canoe and draped pieces of clothing over one and a heavy sack over the other. Guiding the canoe to the center of the river, Elam gave it a quick shove and it shot downstream with the current. Again, he steadied Tillie as they waded across the river to the overhang.
“Git under this rock and push to the back. They will be upon us in a minute,” Elam said quietly.
The Indians came with a rush and there were war whoops all around the stream. Elam put his hand over Tillie’s mouth and whispered in her ear a word of comfort, “Now don’t you be a-skeert’, just you trust in the God yourn’ children pray to all the time.”
Across the river, Indians circled the wounded warrior with shock and unbelief chattering excitedly in their tongue. Some saw to the dead squaw and the rest searched the bank.
Tillie drank from the fresh water that ran around her. The Indians had starved her and the water quickly revived her. The cold water helped her aching and swollen body as Elam held her against the strong current with his steady hand, holding fast to a root below the surface of the water. He had never been this close to a woman and the closeness excited him. Wrapping his right arm around her waist, she laid her head against his shoulder. He was glad she was not facing him because he was blood red from embarrassment.
Above the riverbank, an Indian spotted the canoe and shouted the alarm, pointing at the canoe as it moved far downriver. Suddenly every canoe on the bank was launched and runners were sent to bring paddles from the village. As soon as the canoes were out of sight, he whispered, “It won’t take them long to overtake the canoe and realize they wuz tricked. We must move now!”
The Indians on the bank had a hard time loading the dead squaw on a horse. It took several on each side of the horse to keep her positioned as they moved across the meadow. The wounded warrior was carried on a travois back to camp. “We must move fast,” Elam whispered. “They will be a-comin’ back in a big hurry. Can you walk? Thar are hosses hid a mile or so from here,” he added.
“I will walk or run if I have to,” Tillie responded, her voice stating her resolve.
Wading against the current, they headed upstream, staying below the riverbank until out of sight of the camp. It wasn’t long until Elam said, “This is whar we leave the river.” Quickly, he helped her out of the water and they started across the prairie. Elam sighted a distant point to keep them headed straight to the distant mountains.
“Miss Tillie, I want you to git on my back and I will carry you. We are not making much time, and at this rate, they will be a-catchin’ up with us a-fore we make the horses,” Elam said with urgency.
“I am sorry. I will do whatever you say,” she said.
For a long time, Elam carried Tillie, who drifted in and out of consciousness. Turning often to check his back trail, he saw smoke signals rising from the direction of the Indian camp. The sound of a fast-running horse and a dust cloud on the other side of a small rise in the prairie surprised Elam. Kneeling low in the tall grass, he could hear the Indians talking excitedly. He had almost walked smack dab into a band of Indians out looking for the missing chief’s son. The Indians were talking loudly and he could see the feathers on the headband of the mounted horseman. Waist-deep grass was the only cover they had as they stood in the middle of a vast prairie. Sliding the repeater rifle off of the sling around his neck, he readied himself for a fight. The noise would surely bring the rest of the tribe down on him. Suddenly the Indians were all talking fast. Tillie lay in the grass by Elam’s knees, trying her best to stay conscious. Elam sighed relief as the rider had changed the direction of the band of Indians. Had the brave not come, the party would have ridden up on Elam with Tillie on his back. Listening to the receding riders, he whispered, “Miss Tillie, we almost bought the farm. Now they will look for us in another direction.”
Finally, he reached the cut in the cliff and sitting Tillie down on the grass, Elam took up his rifle and entered where Nolan had left the horses. Heaving a sigh of relief, he saw the horses standing in the small meadow munching grass. Behind a boulder, Elam pulled out the packs Nolan had hidden. After saddling the little mare, he removed the hobbles. “Tillie, you are going to have to set this hoss. I will tie you in the saddle, but you will still have to keep yourself straight,” Elam said.
“Don’t worry about me. Just get me to my children,” Tillie said determinedly.
Elam tried to sound confident when he said to Tillie, “We won’t make it today, but they are safe. Now we gotta’ look to ourselves. Our way south is blocked, so we’ll head back in the hills whar I know the territory.” Elam scanned the country for a long time before he led out. From the west and north, there were more smoke signals. “We done made them plum mad. Those Injuns are searchin’ in every direction. I’m jest goin’ to head home. Tonight, you will sleep on a good bed and have a good supper. You jest hold onto that saddle horn and I will git us home.”
Mounting a big black horse called “Old Son” he led off carrying them deep into the mountains, staying to the hard ground as much as he could. What they needed was a good rain right about now to wash out their back trail. Elam paused and took one last look along their back path before they crested a hill. He marveled there were no Indians in pursuit. Reasoning to himself how slow they had been traveling, he half expected to see the whole Indian nation ride over the hill. Stopping every hour or two, he would lift her from the saddle and set her in the shade to rest. Tillie was dazed and in bad shape. Mid-day, Elam smiled to see the mountain peak that lay before his valley.
Elam said softly, “Miss Tillie, we are almost home. You jest hang on for a few more minutes and I will put you in that bed I promised you.” Tillie’s skin was chalky and she was running a fever. She didn’t answer him. He was frightened to see how bad she looked. Riding up to the cabin, he jumped down and quickly untied her from the saddle. Tillie leaned over and fell into his arms. With only the moonlight shining through the window, Elam entered the cabin and laid her on his bed. Her clothes were matted with dirt and blood and were wet from the river. Elam covered her with a quilt he had brought with him and stood looking at her. What would he do? The torn and blood-stained clothing had to come off, and he must clean her wounds.
“I’m a-goin’ to turn the hosses loose and let them graze. You rest easy and I will be back in a few minutes,” Elam said. He realized she had not heard a word he had said. Doing fast work of caring for the horses, he dipped a pail of water from the stream before hurrying back into the cabin.
Elam sat in the dark by the bed and listened to her labored breathing. He realized he had to get her wounds cleaned. Covering the windows with deer hides to keep the light from escaping, he built a small fire. Quickly he went about getting something for her to eat. Opening a crude wooden chest, he took dried deer meat he had cured and cut away the mold. Adding the meat to a pot of water on the hearth, it did not take long until he had the meat boiling and a second pot beside the fire to warm to clean Tillie’s wounds.
Grabbing a second bucket, he ran to the river and refilled them. On the way back, he suddenly stopped and studied the darkness, standing still and listening to the sounds of the night. He realized he had left his rifle and pistol in the cabin. He had let his guard down and that was a foolish thing to do. The night was quiet and all seemed to be fine, but his intuition was telling him differently.
Back in the cabin, he bolted the door and prepared the weapons for use. Tillie slept from exhaustion and her breathing was ragged. Elam took the warm water and knelt beside the bed. Gently he said, “Miss Tillie, I need to clean your wounds. I’m sorry, but it’s got to be done. I want you to roll over and face the wall, and I will remove the bloody clothes that are stuck to your back.” With fevered eyes, Tillie tried to comprehend what he was saying.
“Just roll over that-a-way for me,” Elam said. He quickly cut the clothing away and cleaned the gashes that she had on her back. She had more bruises than cuts, but it took a long time to get the dry, blood-soaked clothing loose. He had never seen a woman’s naked back and the circumstances disturbed him greatly. Elam was ashamed for her and ashamed of his feelings. The bucket of water he had used for cleaning was bloody again, and taking it outside, he squatted down and poured it quietly into the sandy soil.
This time he sat for a long time in the shadows listening to the night sounds and considering what he must do. He felt better about Tillie’s wounds. They would heal quickly because most of them were superficial.
Back inside, fatigue overtook him and he slept sitting against the inside of the cabin door. The sun awoke him and he sat listening to the morning sounds. Birds chirped and the sound of water splashing and gurgling down the stream welcomed him to his valley. Across the room, Tillie lay very still. He could see the blanket moving up and down as she breathed ever so slightly. The smell of soup filled the room with a pleasant odor. Moving stiffly, he stirred the pot and felt of Tillie’s forehead. Elam smiled to himself, knowing her fever was gone. Taking up his rifle, he eased out a side window. A large bush hid the window from the hillside. As still as a deer watching the forest, he sat for a long time watching the meadow.
Moving to all four corners of his cabin, he sat and watched for any signs that the Indians had found his hidden valley. Once back inside, he raised Tillie and spoon-fed her broth for the better part of an hour before she weakly protested. All through the day, Elam went from window to window expecting to see Indians, but he could see none.
Elam relaxed through the day watching over Tillie. He was once again rested. The stress of the last few days was gone.
“Elam, isn’t that your name?” a soft voice from behind him said.
Stepping over to the bed, he saw blue eyes looking up at him. “I shore am glad to hear that voice,” Elam said. “It looks like that old boot I put in the soup has brought you around!”
Tillie managed a weak smile and said, “Where are my kids?”
“They are down country in civilization. We made it back to my cabin and you have been asleep for two days. Your fever is gone and we will be ready to travel in a day or two,” he said. Evening came, and she had eaten a good portion of the soup.
The rest of the night, he sat in the cabin darkness. His eyes and ears were working overtime to hear or see any movement in the dark. He was alive because his senses could identify the noises made by the braves, the most cunning of all predators. With the rifle across his knees, he listened to the soft breathing of the first woman he had ever had conversations with besides his mother.
He slept lightly, and when morning came, he eased out into the woods to make sure the Indians had not found his valley. Making his way to the top of a mountain, he watched the sunrise, unable to clear his mind of the lovely woman in his bed.
Morning brought new smoke signals and now there were many of them all closer to his valley. The Indians were slowly moving into the mountains checking every valley and mountainside along the way. They were intent on finding them. Suddenly there was a smoke signal that was in the mountains and he realized that it would be around the spot where he had dumped the dead Indian. They had found the chief's son.
Elam studied the surrounding countryside for a little longer and then headed back for the cabin. Bringing with him a fresh bucket of water, he entered the cabin and instantly he was staring down the barrel of a pistol. Tillie lay in the bed, holding the gun he had removed from the Indian as if she knew how to use it.
“I am glad to see you are feeling better, Miss Tillie. Last night you had me worried. Looks to me you know how to use that pistol,” Elam said.
“My husband taught me to shoot. Who took off my clothes?” she asked.
Elam turned red and was ready to bolt for the door when she said, “I am glad you were wise enough to take care of my wounds or I might have had a bad infection by now.” He knew she was trying to clear the situation and make him feel that he had done the right thing.
Elam never looked in her direction, for he knew she was not dressed and had only the buffalo robe over her.
“I want to go to the river and bathe. Is that all right?” Tillie asked.
“Wrap yourself in that blanket and we will go. There is backwater over thar behind those big rocks whar you can bathe,” he said.
“I will stand watch fer you. After you finish, you can watch fer me,” Elam said.
A few minutes later, Tillie laid the blanket down and stepped off in the cold water. It took her a long time to get used to the chill, but finally, she was submerged. She lay in the water, her aching bones protesting. For most of an hour, she lay there.
“Are you still back there guarding me?” she asked.
There was no sound and suddenly she was frightened. Quietly she slipped from the water and picked up the pistol and blanket. Making her way around the edge of the pool, she came to a large rock. Hearing the sound of water splashing, she stepped around the rock and pointed her gun. Elam stood waist-deep in the water with a razor in one hand and a mirror in the other, his face lathered. He was shaving his beard. Embarrassed, he backed into deeper water. The two stood looking at each other and Elam finally broke the silence. “I wish you wouldn’t point that gun at me so much,” he said.
“You have a mirror and soap?” she asked.
“I would have told you bout’ the soap and mirror, but you wuz already in the water. I didn’t think you would want me a-comin’ round from whar I wuz a-watchin’,” he said.
“I would not have recognized you without your beard. You’re younger than I am,” Tillie said. With a shave, Elam looked to be much younger and she was shocked.
Elam chuckled as he washed the soap off his razor. “I be older than I look. Asides’ I have been on my own since I war jest about Danny’s age!” he exclaimed.
Tillie pulled the robe tight against the early morning chill. “I guess we are as old as we have to be out here in the wilderness.” For a minute, the two looked at each other. Tillie’s voice broke as she said, “Elam Franklin, I thank God for you and what you have done for my children and me. I have never met a man so much a man as you, whatever your age is!” she said with a smile.
“Whar is your husband, ma’am?” Elam inquired.
“My husband?” Tillie had forgotten she had mentioned her husband had taught her to shoot. “He is dead. He died a long time ago. We left the day we buried him and have been on the run ever since,” she said.
“Runnin’ from what?” Elam asked.
“Running from an evil woman that’s after my children, and a life of unhappiness I want to leave behind,” Tillie said firmly.
“I didn’t mean to be a-meddlin’. When most folks say they are a-runnin’, usually they are a-runnin’ from the law,” he said.
Elam was ashamed that he felt as he did. “I meant to give you this soap a-fore you got in the water, but I needed a shave. Maybe you better come out here and git it. Your back will need a good cleanin’ today, and now could be the only bath we git for a long time,” he said naively.
Tillie looked at him for a moment. “I’m going back to the pool. You can bring me the soap when you are through with it. I can wash my back today,” she said with a smile.
Elam was profoundly embarrassed and turned away from her as he said, “Yes ma’am, I should figure you kin wash your own back, I ‘pologize.” A few minutes later, he appeared with the soap and some clothing he intended for her to wear.
After she bathed, she slipped on the shirt that Elam had left for her and it almost reached the ground. There was no way she could travel like this. Holding a pair of his pants up with one hand, she called for him, “Elam, you may come back here now and get the soap and buffalo robe.”
Not looking at her, he moved around the rock and gathered the items. They walked back to the cabin where Elam broke the silence. “You can’t travel like that. Them clothes will be uncomfortable and chafe you. I have some deer hides on the back wall of the cabin. We can work some lard in the hides and make them soft,” he said as he explained that he had been in many Indian villages and knew how to make Indian clothing.
Tillie stepped in front of Elam and stopped him with one hand as she held the loose clothes up with the other. “I fear I have hurt you and that is something I never intended to do. It’s just that under the circumstances, I didn’t think it was proper for me to get in the water with you,” she said.
Elam had not been able to look at Tillie; instead, he busied himself, watching the surrounding country. “Miss Tillie, you don’t owe me no ‘pology. I didn’t mean nothin’ by what I said. I am an ignorant man. I never wanted to do anythin’ but be in the woods while I wuz a-growin’ up. I war on my own with no ma to learn’ me to read and write since I wuz young. I don’t know how to treat women folks. I ain’t never touched no woman cept’ you in my whole life,” he said.
For a moment, Tillie was stunned at the simple honesty of this man. She put her hand on Elam’s face and looked into his eyes for a long time. “I see wisdom and courage in your eyes. I feel kindness and gentleness in your touch. I don’t see an ignorant man but a wise man far wiser than any man I have ever known. I appreciate your gentleness.” Grinning, she added, “I am surprised and delighted to see such a handsome face under that beard. If you would like, I will teach you to read and write.”
Returning the smile, Elam said, “That could take you a mighty long time since I ain’t never even opened a book!”
“Sure you have! You have read much more than I, even though I have read many books. Most people can only read books about people like you. Elam, you have lived a life that others only dream. I will teach you to read and write so you can tell others about what living in the wilderness is like,” Tillie said.
Elam smiled and felt weak from the power that the blue eyes held over him. “We best be a-goin’. You need clothes and we can’t stay here much longer,” he said.
By early morning Tillie was dressed in clothing made of deer hides sewn together by strips of leather. Elam was fascinated by her beauty and could not take his eyes off of her. “Elam, you better get your mind on getting us out of here and not be watching every move I make,” she finally said.
Elam grinned and finished packing all the belongings he could put on the packhorse. Taking the pack outside, he secured it to the horse the chief’s son had been riding and took everything else of value to a small cave he had found on the mountain behind the cabin. Everything he wanted to take, he packed.
He looked around the valley and sighed, hating to leave his valley, but the safety he once had was gone. The Indians would not let up until they found them. Even though Elam had come back for horses, he had found a treasure more valuable in Tillie. He had fallen in love and could not think of anything but her. Storing the last of his possessions, Elam stepped from the cave and stood on the side of the mountain, scanning the valley. “I will one day make this valley my home,” he sighed. Suddenly he realized he had been very foolish. A smoke signal rose in the sky from across the valley. No more than ten miles away, Indians were signaling for those around them. They had tracked them. Once inside the valley, they would find his cabin. He was angry with himself as he ran down the mountain in a rush. Bursting in the cabin out of breath, he stood looking down the barrel of the pistol once again. “Woman, one of these days, you are going to shoot me iffin’ I don’t git scalped by those Indians out thar first!” Elam exclaimed.
Tillie’s face lost all color and fear and dread snapped her like a whip. They both ran from the cabin. Within a few minutes, they were racing the horses across the valley. The ground slowly started to climb and the horses began to labor from their effort and the altitude.
“We better give these horses a breather. You think you could walk a bit?” Elam asked.
“I’m okay now. The rest has done wonders for me,” Tillie said.
They walked along together for a few miles, steadily climbing out of the valley. Elam was ever watchful and said little.
“You want to tell me what you are upset about?” Tillie asked.
“I wuz not being watchful and almost got us killed,” Elam stated.
“You were taking care of me,” she said.
“I am taken by your beauty and have been acting like a love-sick fool!” Elam said pointedly.
“Elam, you sure say just what’s on your mind. I’m afraid I am partly to blame. I have been enjoying your attention, but maybe we better try and get out of here before you start courting me,” she added.
Elam blushed again. “Well, iffin’ you are going to teach me to read and write, I will be a-courtin’ you for a long time,” he said with a grin.
“For now, just keep your eyes open and your wilderness wits about you,” she said.
The sun was almost overhead as they crested the mountain pass that led out of the valley. They rested to check their back trail and then headed west, . In the valley below, smoke rose from a distant fire. “They have found my cabin. That was my first home and the only bed that ever fit me,” Elam said sadly.
“It could be worse. We could be in that cabin while it burned,” Tillie said. Tillie watched his countenance fall as he watched the smoke rising across the valley. “I started with a Conestoga wagon and six fine mules. They are gone and I’m wearing deer hides. I’ve lost most of my hair, but I have my life, my kids, and a new friend in you. I feel I am the richest woman alive!” Tillie said.
Elam thought about what she had said for a moment then turned his attention back to the direction they were traveling. “Miss Tillie, you see through the small things whar the important things be a-layin’,” he said.
Dark clouds began to form in the west and rumbling echoed across the mountains. “We better mount up and make some distance. They are coming fast and will try and run us down a-fore dark. I know a place whar we can hide,” Elam said.