A settler girl was left to die with her unborn child—until a Lakota hunter discovered her
Chapter 8
Captain Wharton arrived at sunrise.
He came with forty soldiers, their blue coats bright against the autumn grass, their rifles gleaming in the cold light. They formed a line at the edge of the trading post yard, and Wharton dismounted alone.
“Mrs. Morrison,” he said, touching his hat. “We meet again.”
Sarah was standing on the porch, James Eagle on her hip. Her hand was at her belt, resting on the knife.
“Captain.”
“I’ve come to offer you a choice.”
“I’m listening.”
Wharton smiled. It was a thin, unpleasant expression. “The Army needs a guide. Someone who knows the territory, who knows the Lakota, who can help us negotiate a peaceful settlement.”
“You want me to betray the people who saved my life.”
“I want you to help prevent a war. If we can’t negotiate, people will die. Lakota people. White people. Maybe even that child in your arms.”
Sarah’s grip on the knife tightened.
“You’re asking me to lead soldiers to my husband’s village.”
“I’m asking you to help us find a peaceful solution.”
“And if I refuse?”
Wharton’s smile faded. “Then I will have no choice but to assume you are complicit in the hostile actions of the Lakota. And I will treat you accordingly.”
“Captain Wharton.”
The voice came from behind Sarah. She turned to see Two Eagles stepping out of the trading post, his bow in his hand, an arrow already nocked.
“Two Eagles,” Wharton said. “I should have known.”
“You should have known that I would not let you threaten my wife.”
“Your *wife*?” Wharton’s eyes widened. “You married a white woman?”
“I married the woman I love. The Army has no authority over my marriage.”
Wharton laughed. It was a cold, ugly sound. “You think your marriage protects her? You think love matters in a war?”
“I think,” Two Eagles said, his voice low and steady, “that you are standing on Lakota land, threatening a Lakota family. And I think you should leave before I decide to stop being peaceful.”
The soldiers raised their rifles.
Sarah stepped forward, James Eagle still in her arms.
“Captain Wharton,” she said, “I know about the button. I know about the letter. I know that you let my husband die to create an excuse for war. And I have written everything down—every detail, every name, every piece of evidence—and given it to a trader who will make sure it reaches Washington.”
Wharton’s face went pale.
“You’re lying.”
“Am I?”
“You have no proof.”
“I have the button. I have the names of the soldiers who visited our wagon train. I have the letter my husband’s brother sent from Fort Laramie.” Sarah held his gaze. “And I have a story that the newspapers in the East will love. *Captain Sacrifices Settlers for Political Gain.* Imagine what your superiors will say.”
Wharton stared at her for a long moment. His hand drifted toward his pistol.
“Go ahead,” Sarah said. “Shoot me. Shoot my husband. But I promise you—there are other copies. And the story will come out.”
The silence stretched.
Then Wharton lowered his hand.
“This isn’t over,” he said.
“Yes, it is.”
He mounted his horse. He looked at Sarah—really looked at her—and she saw something in his eyes that she hadn’t expected.
Respect.
“Mrs. Morrison,” he said, “you are the most dangerous woman I have ever met.”
He rode away.
The soldiers followed.
Sarah stood on the porch, breathing hard, James Eagle clutching her dress, Two Eagles beside her with his bow still raised.
“Did you really write it all down?” Two Eagles asked.
“No.”
“Then how—”
“I gambled.”
Two Eagles laughed. It was a strange sound, full of relief and wonder and something that might have been pride.
“You gambled with our lives.”
“I know.”
“Don’t do it again.”
“I won’t.” She paused. “Unless I have to.”
He pulled her close.