Savage Tempest by Cassie Edwards

last load to the river and dumped it into the water.
    She eyed the manure as it floated away, making a note never to put one foot in the river there, or downstream, where the other women were dumping their buckets of manure into the water.
    She cringed when she wondered whether the manure might float down to where the women bathed daily. If so, might she step into a pile while walking out into the water for her bath?
    She shook such a thought from her mind and returned the bucket to the corral. She took the time to stop and stroke her steed’s sleek mane, seeing that someone was taking good care of Swiftie, and wondering who it might be.
    Surely it was High Hawk, for he did seem to have a deep love of all horses. She was afraid that she had lost the horse to him, but she would change that when she found a chance to flee.
    She turned when she felt someone’s presence behind her.
    She frowned when she found Blanket Woman standing there, her arms folded across her chest.
    â€œWhat now?” Joylynn asked, sighing heavily.
    â€œYou do not think you are finished for the day, do you?” Blanket Woman snapped.
    â€œNo, so what is it you want of me?” Joylynn said tightly. “What chore must I do now to earn my . . . keep?”
    Blanket Woman slapped the handle of a hatchet into Joylynn’s hand and gave her a wicked smile, causing Joylynn’s face to lose its color.

C HAPTER N INE
    â€œDo not look as though I was going to use the hatchet on you,” Blanket Woman said, cackling as she saw Joylynn’s horrified expression.
    â€œI did not think so,” Joylynn said, trying to ignore Blanket Woman’s continued obvious dislike of her “Are you going to tell me what I am to do, or am I supposed to guess? I’m not a mind reader, you know.”
    â€œThe hatchet is used to remove bark from cottonwood trees,” Blanket Woman said, this time matter-of-factly. She placed the handle of a basket in Joylynn’s hand. “You are to bring the bark back in this basket and feed it to my son’s horses.” She harrumphed. “And also the one that you call yours.”
    â€œThat horse
is
mine,” Joylynn protested, not wanting to believe that Swiftie belonged to someone else. “It has been mine for many years. Myhorse and I went through all kinds of adventures together when I worked as a Pony Express rider.”
    â€œI know of such things as the Pony Express. But I have heard that only men carry the white man’s written words from place to place, not women,” Blanket Woman said, searching Joylynn’s eyes. “Surely you lie to impress this old woman.”
    â€œI don’t care what you think about anything I do or say. I did not tell you that to impress you,” Joylynn said flatly. “It just slipped out, that’s all.”
    But in truth, she
had
told the older woman about her being a Pony Express rider in order to let her know that she was dealing with a woman of strength, stamina and spirit.
    Yes, it had taken all of those traits to ride for the Pony Express, and she would always be proud that she had been able to handle the job.
    â€œJust . . . slipped . . . out?” Blanket Woman said, squinting into Joylynn’s eyes in wonderment. “What is such talk as that?”
    â€œWhite people’s talk, that’s what,” Joylynn said, then turned and gazed into the forest of cotton-wood trees and walked away from Blanket Woman. She was determined to get a good amount of bark in order to prove that she could do whatever task the older woman assigned her.
    But when she started trying to cut long strips of bark from a tree with the hatchet, she realized how hard it was. The bark stubbornly clung to the tree’strunk, giving only an inch at a time as Joylynn tried to slice it away.
    When the hatchet slipped, barely missing Joylynn’s leg, she stepped quickly away from the tree.
    She turned with a start when a twig broke