Edge of the Wilderness - By Stephanie Grace Whitson Page 0,2

think about washing it. He looked horrible. He smelled worse. He had to get away. She must not see him like this. But he couldn’t move.

How, he wondered, had she managed to find him? Did she know that just the sight of her made him catch his breath? He thought the white antelope-skin dress she wore had been ruined in a fire long ago. She must have found a way to repair it. The fringe down the sides and around the hem of the simple dress swayed when she walked, brushing against her soft skin. He knew the feel of that skin. Just thinking about it made his whole body grow taut with emotion. She hadn’t braided her hair. Did she know how he loved it when she let it hang down her back that way, a gleaming, flowing stream of dark silk?

She couldn’t see him. Not like this. Not when he looked and smelled like some wild animal. He couldn’t let her see him until he could take her in his arms and tell her that the time they’d been apart meant nothing . . . that, just as he had told her on the day he said good-bye, her blue eyes had followed him everywhere, given him hope to live another day.

Why was it so difficult to move? He needed to get away—to get ready—but it was too late. She saw him. He grabbed a hank of matted hair and tried to push it behind his shoulders in a vain attempt to look more acceptable. She stood still for a moment, and then those eyes—those blue eyes that had been with him since the only time he had kissed her long ago—blinked and widened with recognition. The full mouth parted in a smile so beautiful it made him ache with longing. Her eyes filled with tears and she ran to him, threw herself at him, oblivious to all the things that had made him want to run away.

He wanted to bury his face in the river of her dark hair and whisper what he had learned in all the months they had been apart. But something was wrong. He clenched his jaws in an effort to make his arms wrap themselves around her. But he could not move. The words he had practiced for months died before reaching his lips. He heard something—something odd. His head filled with words, pounding against his temples, wanting to get out. The pressure inside his head was infuriating. She was murmuring words of love, touching his face, her gentle fingers stroking his hairline.

Something cold pressed against the place Blue Eyes had just touched.

Two Stars woke to the sound of someone cocking a pistol very near his head. He could feel the cold end of the barrel pressing against his temple. He opened his eyes. He was lying on his back staring up at the sod-covered roof of the prison building.

“Someone wants to talk to you,” the soldier grunted. He waved his gun at Robert Lawrence. “And you. Let’s go.” Two Stars sat up, blinking stupidly as a shaft of bright light streamed in through the doorway. Next to him Robert Lawrence sat up. They looked at each other, frowning.

From where they sat, Daniel and Robert could see the soldier waiting at the door. He wore knee-high brown leather boots with metal tacked over the toes. Dirty blond hair, spilled out of his felt hat and over the collar of his blue jacket. Private Brady Jensen. He had been one of the guards assigned to the Dakota prison since its creation, and he made no attempt to hide his feelings about Indians. Jensen used his steel-toed boots to stomp rats and to kick Dakota prisoners out of his way with equal relish. Waking a slumbering Dakota warrior by pressing a gun barrel to his temple would give Jensen a new anecdote for the mess hall tonight. Daniel was glad he hadn’t shown any sign of fear. He hadn’t really been afraid for a long time now. He almost wished Jensen would have pulled the trigger and sent him back to the dream where he could hold Blue Eyes in an eternal embrace.

Fresh snow had added a layer of pristine white atop the frozen sludge surrounding the prison building. Two Stars and Robert struggled for a few feet before adopting the strange hobbling gait that enabled them to follow Jensen through the snow in spite of the irons holding their ankles together. Each man