Finished with the supper dishes, Molly folded her dish towel and carefully put it away. After she threw the dishwater out the back door, she placed the pan on the shelf beside the stove. Then she turned to attract Martha Riddler’s attention. With a signal that had become familiar to the doctor’s wife, she indicated that she was going for a walk. Martha smiled and nodded.
Molly took a walk almost every night. And while she never let on, Martha knew that the young girl’s walk usually led to the chapel. She suspected that Molly’s prayers were most likely for the safety of a certain sandy-haired outlaw. It was a sad thing, a dream that had very little chance of ever coming true. Martha found it hard to believe that the young man she had met would be capable of committing the crime he was charged with, but there was apparently enough evidence for the army to pursue him. She shook her head sadly as she watched the worried young girl go down the front steps and turn in the direction of the chapel. So much sadness in such a nice young girl’s life—it hardly seemed fair.
Molly was not a religious person, having been raised by a mother who had very little time, and no inclination, to attend church services. But she felt a peace inside the little whitewashed chapel. There was never anyone there in the evening, and it was never locked. Seated on one of the hard, backless benches in the dim quiet, she could think about the things that were most important to her. And foremost among these was the one person she longed to see more than anyone else in the world. She would often find herself far away in the mountains on the horizon, drifting along winding game trails, looking out over high cliffs to isolated valleys below—mentally seeing the places she imagined he saw. Sometimes, she would suddenly realize that she had been away from the house too long, and she would have to scurry back before Martha became concerned.
They said he had murdered an army officer in Virginia and, like many other outlaws, was on the run in this untamed country. She knew that should matter to her, but she could not—would not—believe he was capable of cold-blooded murder. There had to be some mistake. She knew in her heart that she could not feel this longing for such a man. Every night she prayed to God to watch over him, to hear her prayers even though she had not been the Christian she should have been for all her young years.
As on most evenings, the chapel was empty on this night. Molly pushed the door open and peeked in to make sure. Satisfied that she was the only lonely soul seeking solace, she went in and closed the door behind her, then stood there for a few moments while her eyes adjusted to the dim evening light. Then she went to the front bench and sat down. For a few minutes, she simply gazed at the wooden cross behind the raised pulpit. Far from ornate, it was a rather crude symbol, constructed by one of the post carpenters. But it served to encourage the proper atmosphere for soulful meditation. After a short reverie, she silently recited her standard plea for God to watch over her knight in buckskins.
Her mind wandered again to the high places where she dreamed of going with him. Then she thought about the night he had suddenly appeared to rescue her from Iron Claw’s tipi. She pictured him when he had sat before the campfire at night on the journey back to Fort Laramie, making conversation with Red Hawk and Cooter Martin. Cooter had said the Sioux called Matt Igmutaka, mountain lion. She could understand the reason, but even if he was as fierce and deadly as they claimed, she knew that this mountain lion possessed a compassionate heart. She suddenly felt an ache in her soul and a feeling of despair, for she longed so desperately to see him again.
She permitted her mind to dwell on what could never be for longer than she had intended, for she realized then that it was getting quite dark in the chapel. Anxious to get back before Martha began to worry, she got to her feet and hurried toward the entrance. Stepping out the front door, she paused to look toward the parade ground. It was almost deserted, with only an occasional soldier or two crossing on his way to Seth Ward’s bar or back to the barracks. It was already too dark for anyone to notice her standing before the chapel.
Turning to look over her left shoulder, she could see the soft, rosy glow of campfires hovering over the closest Indian camp—a band of Oglala Sioux, Dr. Riddler had informed her. They were more than a mile away, yet the sky glowed with their fires. She involuntarily shivered when she thought about the thousands of savages that surrounded the fort. Pushing that thought from her mind, she turned and started across the parade ground, in a hurry now to get back to the house.
Walking briskly toward the officers’ quarters, she picked up her step a little. She had never had any fear of the dark, but she suddenly felt very alone, as if sensing that something was wrong. She had reached the center of the darkened parade ground when she heard a soft footfall behind her. Startled, she almost turned to look, but told herself she was letting her imagination run away with her. She hurried on, certain now that Martha would be standing on the porch looking for her. There it was again! This time she knew it was not her imagination. Someone was behind her, and was closer than before. Frightened, she spun on her heel to face him. In the dim light, she was unable to identify him at first, but she could see that he was an Indian. Her heart fairly leaped into her throat. Moments later, she exhaled a great sigh of relief. It was Red Hawk.
“You must not go out alone no more till Sioux are gone,” he said. “Slaughter sent me to tell you, you’re in danger.”
Slaughter, she signed excitedly. Here?
Red Hawk nodded, then said, “Slaughter’s here, but can’t come to you—soldiers get him.”
Where? She wanted to know, unaware of the pounding of her heart.
“He’s camped on the Laramie. He told me to find you. You got to be careful. Jack Black Dog’s lookin’ for you.”
Jack Black Dog. The name instantly brought chills to her spine. Well aware of the savage half-breed’s insane lust for her, still she could not believe he was crazy enough to risk coming after her in this place. An image of his leering face came immediately to her mind, causing her to shudder involuntarily when she remembered his insistence that he would one day possess her. How, she wondered, could the treacherous half-breed think he could come for her with soldiers all around?
Anticipating her question, Red Hawk said, “Cooter Martin said Jack Black Dog is crazy in the head—said he aims to take you back.”
Molly shook her head in frantic despair. The thought of Jack Black Dog stalking her brought back the terror she had felt when her mother and stepfather were blatantly shot down before her eyes. How could this nightmare continue? She remembered the breed’s threats and his sneering, lecherous stares when she was Iron Claw’s captive. It seemed he was always close by, watching her whenever she was taken outside the war chief’s lodge.
“Don’t worry,” Red Hawk said, in an effort to reassure her. “Me and Slaughter, we’ll get him. You just stay close to the doctor’s house like Slaughter said.”
Her fear overshadowed by the thought that Matt was near, she repeatedly signed his name. When Red Hawk appeared puzzled, she signed that she wanted to see him.
Red Hawk cocked his head to one side, obviously uncertain about the wisdom of her request. “Slaughter said you stay close to fort.”
Showing a spark of anger as she became frustrated with her limited knowledge of sign language, she tried to convey her thoughts to the Crow warrior, but he was clearly confused. She pounded her chest adamantly, then pointed to him, then back at herself while signing Matt’s name. Finally, after she repeated the motions several times, the meaning of her frantic gestures dawned upon him, and he asked, “If I don’t take you to Slaughter, you gonna go by yourself?” With a great sigh, she nodded her head. “I don’t know . . .” He hesitated, thinking of Slaughter’s instructions to him. She placed her hand on his arm, her eyes pleading with him. Finally, against his better judgment, he relented. “Tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll meet you at the stables when the sun is straight overhead.”