And One Rode West by Graham Heather

Author:Graham, Heather [Graham, Heather]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical Romance
ISBN: 9780440211488
Publisher: Dell
Published: 1992-10-01T00:00:00+00:00

Thirteen

Jeremy didn’t return to his tent until it had grown very late.

Sergeant Jaffe had seen to it that his buffalo stew made its way around the camp and so there was no reason for him to go hungry. He ate with Celia and Jimmy Preston, then made his escape because Celia couldn’t say enough about his prowess against the buffalo and Jimmy just couldn’t quit shaking his head with wonder at the magnificent way Christa could handle herself in any situation.

For a while he walked along the river, glad of the spot he had chosen for their camp. There were two things the army needed when they camped for a stay of any duration—water and grass. He’d found both here in abundance. The river ran strong and pure here, surrounded by endless plains where the grass was deep green, rich, and abundant.

It was beautiful out here. The air was dry and cool, the horizon seemed to stretch for miles while mountains rose in the distance. It was a rougher place than his home, perhaps. Maryland was so very green, shaded with blues and purples. Out here, the landscape was tinged with earth hues, golds and tans, deep burnt oranges and scorching reds.

This was Comanche land, he reminded himself. He was in Buffalo Run’s territory. It could be as wild and savage as the Comanche themselves, and as strangely beautiful.

He paused, listening to the run of the river at his side and looking back at the low burning fires of his camp. A sentry saluted him and he saluted in return. Fourteen men were on guard watching the perimeters of their camp. In four hours they would switch with others. They were spaced fairly tightly together, and they were wary.

Jeremy had been warned by his superiors at Little Rock that Buffalo Run was on the warpath.

But he knew Buffalo Run. He had met the Indian when they had both been quite a few years younger. Buffalo had not yet risen to become the great war chief that he was today. He had just been one of Gray Eagle’s many sons, a handsome Indian, sleek, lean, as cunning as a fox, as strong as a bear.

Jeremy would never forget the first occasion he had met the Comanche. Cavalry and Indians had met in a skirmish just north of the Texas borderline. The cavalry had been doing well enough, until their commander had realized that they were running out of ammunition.

They had made a break for it. Jeremy had been bringing up the rear. They’d raced long and hard, losing the majority of the Comanche following in their wake. But then Jeremy’s horse had suddenly and silently dropped beneath him and Jeremy had gone plunging into the dry dirt. Before he had much managed to catch his breath, he’d been attacked by a man like a five-armed creature out of hell.

He’d managed to dislodge the knife that nearly slit his throat from the Indian’s hand, but the fistfight that had followed between them had gone on endlessly.

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