Judith E French by Highland Moon

Author:Highland Moon
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

They reached Fort Campbell at dusk. The rambling log structure was built on a hillside overlooking a river crossing and was surrounded by a log palisade with watchtowers at the four corners and a water-filled moat around the outside of the walls. Spiked logs, crisscrossed to form an impenetrable barrier, circled the moat.

“Is your father expecting a war?” Anne asked.

Ross grinned. “Always.” He rose in the saddle and pulled the rope of a bronze bell that hung from a post at the foot of the hill. Before the bell had stopped ringing, a pack of hounds burst from the open gate and ran toward them.

“Not more dogs,” Anne muttered under her breath.

Ross laughed. “They might lick you to death, but other than that, they’re harmless.” He twisted in the saddle and caught her with one arm, lowering her to the ground.

“No,” she protested. “I—” She broke off as an inhuman cry cut the still evening air. She whirled to see a painted and feathered Indian on a white horse appear in the gateway.

Ross stiffened in the saddle and screamed an answering war cry. He yanked back on the reins and Tusca reared, baring his teeth. Ross raised his rifle in defiance and reined the stallion into a tight circle, then gave another chilling whoop.

Anne stared in horror as the stranger echoed Ross’s challenge and galloped down the hill toward him, brandishing his own weapon. Clods of earth flew from the horses’ hooves as the two animals thundered toward each other. Ross let out another war cry and threw himself from the saddle seconds before they collided. Tusca veered to the left, barely missing the Indian who vaulted from his own mount, rolled, and leaped to his feet to face Ross.

Screaming a Shawnee war whoop, the buckskinned warrior threw aside his rifle and pulled a knife. Ross tossed his own weapon to the ground and retrieved a blade from the sheath at his waist.

“No!” Anne cried, running toward them. “Don’t!”

Crouching, the two circled each other. Anne could see now that Ross towered over the smaller man, but the Indian was quicker, and Anne’s blood ran cold as his burnished steel knife flashed in the fading twilight. He lunged toward Ross, and Ross grabbed him in a bearhug. Anne screamed and then came to an abrupt halt and blinked to make certain her eyes weren’t lying to her.

Ross Campbell was roaring with laughter—and he was enthusiastically kissing his painted opponent.

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