A settler girl was left to die with her unborn child—until a Lakota hunter discovered her

Chapter 7

The soldiers arrived at the edge of the village in early summer.

There were only six of them, led by a young lieutenant with nervous eyes and a hand that hovered near his pistol. They didn’t attack. They simply sat on their horses at the edge of the valley, watching, waiting.

Two Eagles went out to meet them.

“I am Wambli Nunpa,” he said in English. “What do you want?”

The lieutenant cleared his throat. “I’ve been sent to deliver a message. The United States government is opening negotiations for the purchase of these lands. All tribal leaders are required to attend the council at Fort Laramie in one month.”

“And if we refuse?”

The lieutenant’s hand tightened on his pistol. “That would be unwise.”

Two Eagles watched them ride away. Then he walked back to the village, his face expressionless, his hands steady at his sides.

Sarah met him at the edge of the camp. “What did they want?”

“A council. At Fort Laramie.”

“Are you going?”

“No.”

“Two Eagles—”

“They want me to walk into their fort. Into the place where they can surround me, disarm me, kill me if I don’t agree to their terms.” He shook his head. “I am not that foolish.”

“Then what do we do?”

“We wait. We watch. And if they come for us, we fight.”

—

Summer turned to autumn, and the noose tightened.

More soldiers appeared on the horizon. More demands came for the Lakota to report to reservations. More stories drifted through the trading post of other bands being forcibly removed, of villages burned, of families scattered across the prairie like seeds in the wind.

Sarah spent the autumn at Baptiste Morrow’s trading post, helping Singing Bird with the fall preparations, trading with the few settlers brave enough to travel through the territory. James Eagle was walking now, his steps unsteady but determined, his laughter filling the log building with warmth.

“They’re going to come for us,” Sarah said to Baptiste one evening. “Aren’t they?”

The French trader didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Yes. Before winter, or after. They will not wait forever.”

“What do we do?”

Baptiste was quiet for a long moment. “You have a choice, *ma chère*. You can stay with Two Eagles, fight beside him, die with him if it comes to that. Or you can take your son and go west, find safety, live to see him grow up.”

“I’ve already made my choice.”

“You’ve made an emotional choice. That’s different from a practical one.”

Sarah looked at James Eagle, who was building a tower of wooden blocks that Baptiste had carved for him. He was so small, so fragile, so full of a future that might never come.

“I can’t leave him,” she said.

“You can’t protect him if you’re dead.”

“I can’t live with myself if I abandon the man I love.”

Baptiste sighed. “Then you stay. And we pray.”