The Guardian Read Online Free PDF

Charity to gasp, but the strain was brief. Without being told, she reached past the expanse of her belly and clasped his ribs. She felthis body flinch at her touch, but he said nothing as he caught the lead of the packhorse and urged his mount to a gallop.
    He raced the horses full-out until they reached the shelter of the trees. Then he slowed their pace to a walk, so smooth and stealthy that they glided like shadows among the bone-white aspens. Charity murmured a silent prayer for the dead she was leaving behind—kindly old Rueben, the young carpenter and mason and medic, the two grim women and their even grimmer husbands. And Silas, for whom she had not shed one tear.
    Had she loved him? Perhaps she would never know. Her girlish notions of love had been crushed under the weight of guilt, duty and obedience, crushed by his self-righteous harangues and his cold indifference to her needs. After this ordeal was over, she might find the time to mourn him. Now, however, the only feeling left in her was the hunger to survive.
    â€œWhat kind of man would bring a white woman to a place like this?”
    The tall Arapaho’s question, coming after such a long silence, startled her. His English, she noted, was very good, but spoken with a slight singsong quality, as if he had learned much of it from books.
    â€œMy late husband was a missionary,” she said, refusing to be put off by his icy tone. “And I do believe that’s the longest string of words you’ve spoken to me.Is that where you learned English, from missionaries? Are you a Christian?”
    His only response was a derisive snort of laughter.
    â€œI don’t think we’ve been properly introduced,” she persisted, taking refuge in formality. “My name is Charity Bennett. You may call me Charity. And kindly tell me what I should call you.”
    His eyes followed the flutter of a chickadee from branch to branch. “My Arapaho name means Black Sun,” he said. “And you ask too many questions, Charity Bennett.”
    â€œIndeed?” She feigned mild outrage, using their verbal duel to distract her thoughts from the agony of her seared skin. “May I remind you that the first question was yours?”
    â€œI did not know that moving one rock would set off a rock slide.” He guided the horses around a deadfall, his sharp eyes scanning the trees around them for any sign of danger.
    â€œWhy are you named Black Sun?” She grimaced as the horse jumped over a log, its motion shooting daggers up her back. “It must be an interesting story.”
    He exhaled wearily, as if he had explained the name too many times before. “Not so interesting. I was born at a time when the moon shadow was passing across the face of the sun.”
    â€œYou were born during an eclipse.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œMy mother always said that children born duringan eclipse had the gift of second sight. Do you have any special gifts, Black Sun?”
    He did not reply, and for a moment Charity took his silence for dismissal. She was groping for a retort that would put him in his place when she realized that he had halted the horses and was leaning forward, his body taut and wary.
    â€œWhat is it?” she whispered into the stillness.
    â€œShh!” he hissed. “Listen.”
    Charity held her breath and strained to hear the sound that had alerted him. She could hear the wind that whistled through the aspens, making their long catkins dance and shimmer. She could hear the distant squawks from the awful ring of dead bodies and burned wagons they had left behind. But she could hear nothing more. Her ears were not attuned to the pitch of danger as his were.
    â€œWhat is it?” she whispered again. “I can’t hear—”
    â€œListen!”
    She heard it then, the faint, galloping cadence of unshod hoofbeats, muffled by the soft prairie earth. Her pulse surged, pumping terror through her veins as she