Page 17 of Shoshone Sun

But it wasn’t the time to dwell on such things. She had to keep vigil and be alert for signs he needed assistance.

Time continued to crawl by, the storm outside intensifying with every gust of wind. Peter had not yet returned. He remained a shadow somewhere out there, alone in the white wilderness.

It was sometime past midnight when the Shoshone brave stirred again. His eyelids fluttered, and a groan escaped his lips, rough and strained. Jane, who had been staring at him intently, moved closer to his side instantly, her hands hovering just above his chest.

“Shh, rest easy,” she whispered, her voice low but urgent. “You’re safe now. We’re going to help you.”

The man blinked, his eyes cloudy at first, as though he was still trapped between the world of the living and something darker. He tried to move, but his body—still weakened by the blood loss—shuddered beneath the blankets. Jane reached out to steady him, her fingers pressing against his skin.

“Water,” he rasped, his voice rough, like gravel grinding against stone. “Please.”

Jane grabbed a tin cup from the nearby table, filled it with water from the pot, and gently lifted his head, holding the cup to his lips. He drank vigorously, his hands trembling as he gripped her wrist with surprising strength.

“Easy now,” Jane murmured, her heart pounding in her chest. She was so close to him now—too close—and his eyes locked with hers. There was something in his gaze, a quiet intensity that she could not decipher, but it made her pulse quicken all the same.

Finally, he seemed to relax, his body sinking back into the blankets. But his eyes remained open.

“Who you?” he croaked, his voice hoarse but steady. “Why you help me?”

Jane hesitated. Her heart skipped in her chest, her throat tight. There was a kind of vulnerability in his voice—an exhaustion that matched her own. She knew she had to answer him, but part of her didn’t want to speak the truth aloud. It felt too complicated, too dangerous.

“We couldn’t leave you to die out there,” Jane said simply. “Your wound—it’s serious, but we’ve done what we can. I ... I don’t know what will happen next.”

His gaze softened, a brief flicker of something like gratitude in his eyes. But then he winced, his hand moving to his side where the arrow had been removed.

“Where Blackfoot?” His question was quiet, but it carried with it an edge of urgency.

Jane took a steadying breath, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “We saw them. But they didn’t follow you here.” She didn’t know how much English he understood, so she tried to give him a reassuring smile. With her fingers she imitated them riding off into the distance.

The Shoshone brave closed his eyes for a moment, as though in relief or perhaps acceptance. When he opened them again, the look he gave Jane was one of silent understanding—there was no more need for words.

And then, despite his pain, a small, almost unnoticeable smile tugged at the corner of his lips. It was brief, but it made Jane’s heartbeat faster, her breath catching in her throat.

“You ... save me,” he murmured, his voice fading as sleep began to claim him again. “Thank you.”

Jane didn’t know what to say. The words that were supposed to come to her, to reassure him, seemed to escape her entirely. Instead, she only nodded silently as his breathing evened out again, and the weight of the night settled back over them.

But she couldn’t shake the feeling that nothing would ever be the same in her life again.

Chapter Ten: An Impossible Ultimatum

Peter Jacobs Land Claim, 1866

Ninety miles west of Fort Laramie-

The first light of dawn was weak and pale, struggling to break through the heavy veil of snow that clung to the sky. The storm had relented gradually and the wind had eased, leaving the cabin quiet. The only sound was the crackling of the fire and the soft breath of the wounded man asleep before it.

Peter had returned, half-frozen and weary, sometime in the wee hours of the morning. Still finding no signs of immediate danger, he had reluctantly accepted his need for rest.

Jane had managed to sleep by the man’s side, though restlessly. She awoke early, her mind still occupied with the strange, mysterious sense of connection she had felt the night before working over the Shoshone brave, tending to his wounds, her heart racing at the intensity in his gaze. She forced herself to push those thoughts away, knowing that the reality of their situation would not allow for such distractions. They still had work to do.

Susan, on the other hand, had not slept at all.

The moment Jane stirred awake, she knew something had shifted in the air. Susan was standing by the stove, her back stiff, her face pale and set with determination. Her hands worked mechanically, stirring a pot of porridge with far more force than necessary. Her gaze flickered to the man lying near the fire, her lips pressed tightly together.

Jane stood up, stretching the stiffness from her limbs, then walked over to the window. The snow outside was deep, the wind still blowing it about, though not nearly as strong as the night before. She could make out the tracks of Peter’s boots in the snow where he had trudged out to the barn. A sense of unease settled in her chest. It wasn’t the weather she was worried about anymore though. It was Susan.

The silence in the cabin stretched out, and Jane finally spoke. “We must keep him warm. I’ll go and fetch more firewood.”

---