17 
Shiloh watched in horror as Jesse and Broken Antler shed their buckskin shirts and drew their knives. Men and women, alerted to the pending fight, hurried over to form a large circle around the two men. She soon found herself standing in the back of the crowd, along with Jack.
“Do something!” she cried, turning on him. “Make them stop!”
He graced her with a disinterested look. “They both mean to have you, and Nuaru has refused Broken Antler’s most generous offers. Now they will have to settle the matter another way.”
“But does it have to be with knives? Someone could get killed!”
Jack shrugged. “It was their choice. A wrestling match is usual, but neither seemed to want it that way. Now, they must work out their disagreement as they decide.”
She couldn’t believe how uncaring Jack seemed over the possibility of losing one, if not both men, in a knife fight. She, however, wasn’t about to helplessly stand there and allow that to happen.
“Well, if you’re not going to stop this, I am.” Shiloh turned, intending to force her way through the crowd and confront Jesse, when a hand settled tightly on her arm and pulled her back.
“Do you think to shame them both by interfering?” the Ute chief hissed in her ear. “It’s too late for that. You should’ve thought more carefully what the consequences would be to play the two against each other.”
“I didn’t!” she cried, wheeling about to face him. “I never wanted Broken Antler. It’s always been Jesse. Always. But I won’t stand here and watch him get killed just to protect me.”
“Then you’d give yourself to Broken Antler to save Nuaru?”
For an instant, Shiloh hesitated. The thought of becoming Broken Antler’s woman filled her with revulsion. But to see Jesse die and still have to go with Broken Antler was worse still. Her possible fate with Broken Antler was in the Lord’s hands. Jesse’s survival right now, though, could well be in hers.
“Yes,” she replied, forcing the word past a throat gone dry with both dread and resolve. “I love Jesse, and his life is worth that much to me.”
A strange light flared in Jack’s eyes. For a passing moment, Shiloh imagined she saw a look of satisfaction there.
“Though especially at a time like this I don’t care to risk two of my best braves,” he said, “I will not allow you to stop the fight. It is their right to choose how to settle this matter. But I also tell you not to fear for Nuaru. He’s a strong and clever fighter. It’s unlikely that Broken Antler will best him.”
It wasn’t what she’d hoped to hear, but she knew she had no choice but to accept the small comfort Jack offered. “I won’t interfere. But please, let me be there for him.”
“Then come.” Jack indicated that she follow him. “They won’t begin until I give the word.”
As Shiloh finally cleared the crowd to stand in front along with Jack, Jesse met her gaze. He smiled grimly, but she knew it wasn’t just an expression of determination but one of encouragement too. In spite of her best efforts not to embarrass him with an unseemly display of emotion, tears still filled her eyes. She smiled through them, though, and gave him an acknowledging nod.
“Begin!” Jack cried just then, and the two combatants pivoted about to face each other.
In the next instant, knives flashed and glinted in the day’s waning sun. Broken Antler lunged at Jesse, and if Jesse hadn’t nimbly leaped aside, Broken Antler’s knife would’ve skewered him in the chest. For his efforts Jesse’s stockier opponent received a glancing slash on his arm. With an angry snarl, Broken Antler whipped around and came at Jesse again.
It was soon evident that though Jesse intended only to wound and wear out his attacker, Broken Antler had far darker intentions. Jesse was taller by at least half a foot, leanly muscled, and fast. But Broken Antler was equally fast and used every means at his disposal, be they fair or foul. Several times, if not for Jesse’s speed and accurate anticipation of what his opponent intended, he’d have likely received a serious if not fatal knife wound.
Despite the slowly falling temperature as the sun began to set, sweat began to glisten on Jesse’s torso. Both men were superbly fit, and for a time, neither seemed to hold the advantage. Then, with one quick feint that drew Broken Antler off to that side, in a blur of motion, Jesse changed direction and thrust his knife deep into Broken Antler’s right upper thigh, then withdrew it.
With a cry the Ute fell. Grasping his leg, he writhed on the ground. Jesse walked over to him.
“Do you agree the woman is mine?” he asked.
“Take her!” his opponent gasped, clutching his leg in an effort to staunch the bleeding.
Jesse squatted, wiped his blade clean of blood, then returned his knife to its sheath. “Then it is settled, once and for all?” He held out his hand to Broken Antler. “And there’ll be peace between us, as before?”
“Be gone!” The other Ute pushed Jesse’s hand aside and shoved to a sitting position. “You’re no friend of mine. Not now or ever again!”
“As you wish.”
Jesse stood and turned. Once again, his glance locked with Shiloh’s and he smiled. Joy filled her and she began to walk toward him.
As she did, though, a surreptitious movement behind Jesse caught her eye. She saw a hand reach out and grasp a knife.
“Jesse!” she screamed. “Behind you!”
He spun about. Even then, Broken Antler was throwing the knife. Because of Jesse’s quick reaction, the weapon missed him. It sailed past and directly at her.
A sharp pain lanced through Shiloh. She stopped, surprised and confused, and looked down. Broken Antler’s knife hilt protruded from her right shoulder.
She lifted a befuddled gaze to Jesse. Horror widened his eyes.
“Shiloh!”
He moved toward her, but everything suddenly seemed to be in slow motion. Myriad tiny lights sparkled before her eyes, then the edges of her vision began to gray. Her strength fled. Her legs buckled.
“J-Jesse . . .” she whispered as he reached and caught hold of her. She sagged in his arms as everything—the sky above, the world around them, and even his dear face—disappeared.
Rage engulfed Jesse as he gently lowered a now-unconscious Shiloh to the ground. He pulled the knife from her shoulder and watched as the blood swiftly welled and stained her blouse. A red mist filled his vision, and he stood, turned, and advanced on Broken Antler.
His face gone pale with fear, the man raised a hand in supplication, but Jesse felt nothing but a hunger for vengeance. Then hands were on him, pulling him back, wrestling Broken Antler’s bloodied blade from his hand as well as his own.
“See to your woman,” Jack said. “We’ll take care of this cowardly snake.”
For a few seconds more, Jesse struggled against the hands restraining him. Then he stilled, dragged in a deep, shuddering breath, and nodded.
“Let me go. You’re right. Shiloh must be my first concern.”
Ever so gradually, they released him, though stood warily by as if suspecting some trick. But Jesse just wheeled about and hurried to where Shiloh lay, never once looking back. Some of Jack’s wives were already kneeling beside her, one cradling Shiloh’s head in her lap, while another patted her hand as if to try and wake her, while yet another pressed a wadded cloth over the knife wound.
He squatted at Shiloh’s side. “Let’s get her to my tepee,” he said. “And someone fetch bandages, salves, and a burning stick, in case we need it to staunch the bleeding.”
The women stood, stepped back, then hurried off to fetch what he had requested. Jesse slid one arm beneath Shiloh’s shoulders, the other beneath her legs, and rose. With rapid strides, he headed to where his tepee had been set up, grateful to whichever women had seen to it once their own tepees were readied.
As he walked along, he glanced down at Shiloh. Her face was pale and skin clammy. She weighed little more than a feather to him, and he pulled her even closer.
The bloodstain continued to grow, drenching her blouse. Jesse feared she’d definitely need her wound cauterized and prayed she’d remain unconscious at least until that was accomplished. He also prayed, for the first time in many, many years, to the Christian god he’d long ago rejected.
If You’re truly there, he fervently entreated, spare Shiloh’s life. And, whatever the purchase price You may demand for that, I’ll gladly pay it instead. Just don’t let her die. Please, don’t let her die.
By the time he reached his tepee and carried Shiloh inside to lay her on a soft buffalo robe, several women had crowded in behind him. After handing the burning stick to Jesse to hold, they set to work. He stepped back to allow them to care for Shiloh, knowing they were far more skilled in the treatment of wounds than he’d ever be.
They quickly stripped off Shiloh’s ruined blouse until only a lace-trimmed chemise covered her. After a time attempting to stop the bleeding with pressure, Kwana, the oldest woman, took the flaming stick from Jesse. After wiping the oozing wound with a cloth, she immediately applied the stick to the cut edges.
A sizzling sound filled the air, then the scent of burning flesh. If it had been anyone else, the act wouldn’t have affected Jesse. But he couldn’t control his involuntary wince at seeing them burn Shiloh.
Kwana paused, wiped the wound clean, then watched as blood began to seep again, though this time far more slowly. She applied the still-smoking stick to the wound and held it there for a few seconds. This time, no blood flowed when she sponged the wound clean.
Shiloh was then most efficiently bathed to remove any blood that had spread over her upper body, a healing salve was applied, and her wound bandaged. Mercifully, she never woke. After covering her with another buffalo robe, the women gathered their supplies and began to leave.
“Build a fire to keep her warm tonight,” old Kwana said. “And if she wakes, give her nothing but sips of water. I’ll be back throughout the night to check on her.”
“My thanks,” Jesse said, grasping her arm. “I know you live alone, now that your man has died. I will hunt for meat for you as soon as I can safely leave her.”
She nodded. “That will be appreciated. When you can safely leave her, of course.”
Once he was alone with Shiloh, he scooted over close to her. For a time, he watched her closely, afraid her breathing would cease and she’d leave this life. Finally, however, as time passed and he became aware of the night’s growing chill on his bare skin, he remembered the old woman’s instructions to build a fire.
He climbed from his tepee to find his buckskin shirt folded and laying just outside. After donning it, Jesse went off to Jack’s tepee to borrow some firewood. Tomorrow, he’d gather extra to replace it, knowing Jack wouldn’t begrudge him what he took tonight.
It didn’t take long to get a fire going, and its warmth soon filled the enclosure. Once more, he crawled over to sit close to Shiloh. She slept on, but a quick check of her bandage reassured him that the bleeding hadn’t resumed.
She’s so beautiful, he thought as he gazed down at her. And she’s now mine.
The only obstacle that lay before him was convincing her to accept that.
Tomorrow was soon enough to worry about that, though. After two days without sleep, he was mightily tired. Jesse lay down beside Shiloh and closed his eyes. Tomorrow was indeed soon enough to deal with everything that lay before them. And with the massacre at the White River Agency and the women’s capture, surely the least of his problems would be taking Shiloh to be his wife.
A terrible ache in her shoulder woke Shiloh the next morning. She opened her eyes and stared up the sides of a tepee until her gaze caught on a patch of blue sky through the smoke hole. A passing confusion swept over her. Where was she?
Then the memory of the fight between Jesse and Broken Antler filled her. The agonizing pain of the knife ripping through her shoulder. Jesse catching her as she fell. Blackness . . .
Her hand went to her right shoulder, which was covered by a thick bandage. Someone had treated her wound, and it didn’t seem to be bleeding. If all went well, she thought with a touch of black humor, she just might survive.
Someone stirred on her other side. Shiloh levered to her good elbow and looked down. Jesse lay there, fully clothed, on top of the buffalo robe that covered her.
Her gaze softened. He looked so young and peaceful in his sleep, his mouth soft and vulnerable, his frequently tight jaw relaxed. A slight beard stubble shadowed his face, and his long, black hair lay tousled and free.
Jumbled emotions churned within her breast. Love, gratitude for what he’d risked in saving her from Broken Antler, happiness at being with him once again, and how comfortable it felt with him sleeping beside her. Indeed, everything about this precious moment in time seemed so right, so good.
As if wakened by the sense of someone staring at him, Jesse opened his eyes. There was an immediate alertness and realization of where he was, and with whom, in his gaze. Then relief brightened his face, and he sat up.
Shiloh smiled up at him. “Evidently so.” She glanced around. “Is there any water? I’m so thirsty.”
Jesse reached over near where his head had laid and picked up a leather water bag. He uncorked it and helped Shiloh hold it to her lips. She drank deeply before finally lowering it.
“Thank you. That really helped.”
“So, how do you feel?” He eyed her closely before stoppering the water bag and setting it aside.
“Except for this pain in my shoulder,” she said, shrugging it gingerly, “pretty good. How about you?”
His mouth quirked. “Just fine. I wasn’t hurt yesterday, if you recall.”
“And I’m glad for that. If you hadn’t turned when you did, though . . .”
He sighed and shook his head. “I’d have rather taken that knife than see it hurt you.”
“And I would’ve gladly taken it than see it kill you.”
Their gazes locked, and for a long moment, Jesse stared down at her with the most tender look she’d ever seen. Then someone slapped the tent flap from outside, and the moment was gone.
A head peeked through the partially lifted flap. “Everyone awake in there?” an elderly woman asked. “I’ve got breakfast.”
Jesse immediately sprung to his feet and took the bowls of food from her. “Come in, Kwana. Shiloh’s finally awake and she looks good.”
The woman crawled into the tepee and over to Shiloh. “So, you’re feeling better, are you?” she asked, her dark eyes brimming with friendly curiosity. “You gave us all a scare yesterday, before we finally got your wound to stop bleeding. Your man was almost mad with worry for you.”
Your man . . . The words were startling yet nonetheless stirred a wild joy in Shiloh. She blushed and cut Jesse a slanting look. He sat there calmly, as if he accepted the title.
“I’m sorry to have caused you any trouble. I just wasn’t quite as fast as Jesse was in dodging that knife.”
Confusion clouded Kwana’s eyes, and she looked to Jesse. He smiled. “That’s Shiloh’s name for me. My white name.”
“Oh, of course.” The old woman pointed to the two bowls of steaming mush. “Eat now, before your food gets cold.”
The mush tasted wonderful, warm, and flavored with honey and goat’s milk, but Shiloh found she couldn’t finish even half of it. With an apologetic look at Kwana, she finally set it aside.
“Much as I enjoyed it,” she said, indicating the bowl of mush, “I just can’t eat it all right now. Guess I was so thirsty, I drank too much water.”
“Eat the rest when you can,” the old woman said, climbing to her feet. She looked to Jesse. “We break camp soon. We’re heading to the valley near Rifle Creek.”
Jesse shot Shiloh a worried look. “I don’t know if she’ll be able to tolerate such a long trip. That’s a full day’s ride.”
“I know. But Jack said to tell you that, no matter what, your woman comes.”
Shiloh saw Jesse’s hands fist and his gaze narrow. “I can ride, if you hold me in front of you,” she hurriedly said. “That way, if I get too tired, I can always lean back against you and sleep.”
He looked at her, his brow furrowed in thought. “I suppose that might work,” he said after a time. “Unless you think you’d do better on a travois.”
She was quick to shake her head. Even with an injured shoulder, the idea of snuggling up against Jesse was far too attractive to pass up. “I’ll be fine riding with you. You’ll see.”
“I hope so.” Though he didn’t look very convinced, he seemed to accept her plan.
A half hour later, now wearing Jesse’s red shirt to replace her ruined blouse, Shiloh laid outside on his pile of buffalo robes and watched Jesse take down and pack his tepee, then place it on a travois he then hooked to his second pony. By the time the rest of the camp was ready to depart, Shiloh had finished the mush, drank a good amount of water, and felt almost normal again. She soon discovered, however, how weak she still was when she tried to walk the short distance to his other pony they’d both be riding.
“I don’t think I can mount on my own,” she said, giving him an apologetic smile. “Could you help—”
Before she could even finish her request, Jesse grasped her about her waist and lifted her up to sit on his pony. Then, with a quick leap, he joined her.
Shiloh glanced back at him as he reached around her to take up the reins. “Well, I suppose that answers my question.”
“Just lean against me and rest,” he said. “No matter what you might think, this is going to be a very long and hard day for you.”
“Maybe so,” she said, settling back against him and his strong, buckskin-clad body. “But it has to be done.”
“Yes, unfortunately it does.” He urged his horse forward until they reached where his other pony attached to the travois waited. Taking up the long rope tied to its halter, Jesse once more signaled his pony to set out.
Before them, a long line of Utes led the way, mostly women and children, along with the old men. A strange sense of contentment filled Shiloh. She was safe, now that Jesse was here. Though there was no assurance what tomorrow might bring, at this particular moment in time she no longer cared. All that mattered was that she was with Jesse.
They arrived after dark that night, in a beautiful valley with lush grass and near a creek that ran with clear, cold water. Shiloh had slept off and on all day but was still exhausted when Jesse finally lowered her from his pony. Her legs nearly gave out beneath her. Only his quick dismount to grab her by her arms prevented her from crumpling to the ground.
It was too dark to set up tepees that night, so everyone hurried to build campfires to cook a hasty supper, then turned in beneath bear and buffalo robes with the star-studded sky as their roof. Jesse was more than happy to cuddle Shiloh against him and was glad when she didn’t protest about the undue familiarity of their embrace. Of course, he thought, that was likely more because she was half asleep when he climbed beneath the buffalo robes than because she actually wished him there.
Still, the ease with which she’d snuggled against him most of the day, her ready smiles, and occasional bursts of happy chatter reassured him. He knew she felt comfortable being around him, and maybe even enjoyed it. But then the doubts crept back in to erode his earlier optimism.
Compared to her fate at Broken Antler’s hands, or being beaten by some of the more irate squaws, or even being tortured to death as he’d heard Douglas had advised, Shiloh knew how blessed she was to now be under his protection. And she likely imagined the fact that he’d won the battle to possess her was in name only, just to keep her safe. After all, she’d never made mention of her being his woman now, or asked any questions on the subject.
But then, there were those times when she looked at him with those big eyes of hers, and that look bespoke more than just friendship. Yet were her feelings for him strong enough to cast aside the life she’d always known? Cast aside her family and friends to live the life he’d chosen?
A chill breeze wafted across the valley, setting the tall grasses to gently swaying. The usual sounds of camp life stilled as everyone took to their beds, the quiet broken only by an occasional snort of a pony, a dog barking, or the bleating of their small flock of goats and sheep. Good sounds, comforting sounds, familiar and beloved.
Shiloh stirred, mumbled something, then settled back against him. He leaned down, tenderly brushed her wild, glorious hair aside, and kissed her forehead. She was so beautiful, and he loved her so.
Surely that love would convince her, in time, to accept this life and him as husband. She was his now, leastwise in the Indian view of things. And, whether she liked it or not, that was the way it was going to be.
She was, after all, no longer a free woman but a captive. And he didn’t intend ever to let her go.