Caddie Woodlawn by Brink Carol Ryrie

Author:Brink, Carol Ryrie [Brink, Carol Ryrie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aladdin
Published: 2012-06-19T00:00:00+00:00

which she had come. Betsy, her head drooping under a slack rein, followed the spotted pony among the dark trees. Farther and farther behind, they left the warm, bright glow of fire. Looking back, Caddie saw it twinkling like a bright star. It was something warm and friendly in a world of darkness and sleet and sudden, icy branches. From the bright star of the Indian fire, Caddie’s mind leaped forward to the bright warmth of home. They would have missed her by now. Would Katie tell where she had gone? Would they be able to understand why she had done as she had?

She bent forward against Betsy’s neck, hiding her face from the sharp needles of sleet. It seemed a very long way back. But at last the branches no longer caught at her skirts. Caddie raised her head and saw that they had come out on the open river bank. She urged Betsy forward beside the Indian pony.

“John you must go back now. I can find my way home. They would kill you if they saw you.”

John only grunted. He set his moccasined heels into the pony’s flanks, and led the way onto the ice. Betsy shook herself with a kind of shiver all through her body, as if she were saying, “No! no! no!” But Caddie’s stiff fingers pulled the rein tight and made her go. The wind came down the bare sweep of the river with tremendous force, cutting and lashing them with the sleet. Betsy slipped and went to her knees, but she was up again at once and on her way across the ice. Caddie had lost the feeling of her own discomfort in fear for John. If a white man saw him riding toward the farm tonight, he would probably shoot without a moment’s warning. Did John understand that? Was it courage or ignorance that kept John’s figure so straight, riding erect in the blowing weather?

“John!” she cried. But the wind carried her voice away. “John!” But he did not turn his head.

Up the bank, through the woods, to the edge of the clearing they rode, Indian file. Then the Indian pony stopped.

Caddie drew Betsy in beside him. “Thank you!” she panted. “Thank you, John, for bringing me home. Go, now. Go quickly.” Her frightened eyes swept the farmstead. It was not dark and silent as it had been the night before. Lanterns were flashing here and there, people were moving about, voices were calling.

“They’re starting out after the Indians!” thought Caddie. “Father hasn’t been able to stop them. They’re going to massacre.”

She laid her cold hand on the spotted pony’s neck. “John!” she cried. “John, you must go quickly now!”

“John go,” said the Indian, turning his horse.

But, before the Indian could turn back into the woods, a man had sprung out of the darkness and caught his bridle rein.

“Stop! Who are you? Where are you going?” The words snapped out like the cracking of a whip, but Caddie knew the voice.

“Father!” she cried.

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