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with
her. Her face was swollen from their blows, one eye was black, there was a cut
on one cheek.
    “ Ina .”
    She groaned softly as he gathered her into his arms.
    “ Cinks .” With an effort, she lifted one hand and
stroked his cheek and then her hand fell weakly to her side and she closed her
eyes.
    He had looked at her helplessly, at the dark red blood that
stained her thighs, at the bruises that marred her body. They had hurt her
badly. Her breathing was shallow, as if every breath she drew caused her pain.
    He had to get her back to the village, he thought
frantically, but he had been afraid to move her, afraid to leave her here,
unprotected, while he went for help. Their horses and supplies had been stolen
by the wasichu . He was badly hurt. There was no way he could carry her
back to the village.
    “ Ina , what should I do?”
    Her eyelids fluttered open and she shook her head. “There
is…nothing…to be done.”
    The finality of her words chilled him to the marrow of his
bones.
    She was shivering now. He glanced around, looking for
something to cover her with, but there was nothing. As gently as he could, he
moved her closer to the fire. He left her for a moment to gather more wood,
then knelt beside her once more. It was then, in the light of the flames, that
he saw the blood leaking from a wound in her side. When had they stabbed her? Not
while they were raping her. He would have seen them, would have heard her cry
out. It could only have happened while they were whipping him, he thought. Hurt
and weak as she had been, she must have tried to stop them and they had stabbed
her for it.
    He closed his eyes as an agony of guilt and regret washed
through him. He bent over her, wanting to hold her but afraid to cause her more
pain. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “ Ina , I’m so sorry. Forgive me.”
    “Take care…of your father,” she whispered. “You are all he
has…now.”
    Chance had nodded, unmindful of the tears that dripped down
his cheeks, the blood that dripped like thick red rain down his lacerated back.
He was cold inside. So cold. The fire did nothing to warm him.
    Toward dawn, she had reached for him. As gently as he could,
he cradled her in his arms, hardly aware of the pain of his own wounds.
    Her breathing grew labored. Gasping for every breath, she
whispered, “Be happy…my son.” A moment later, her breathing stilled, and he
knew she was dead.
    He had held her close until the sun cleared the horizon, and
then he had found a sturdy piece of wood and dug her grave. Every movement had
sent fresh slivers of agony burning through his back.
    He had buried her, then covered the grave with rocks to keep
the scavengers away. Standing there, he had raised his arms over his head as he
prayed for Wakan Tanka to take his mother safely along the spirit path
to the Land of Many Lodges.
    “I will avenge you, my mother. By my blood, I swear it!”
    Kneeling beside her grave, he had smeared some of his own
blood on one of the rocks, and then he had passed out.
    When he regained consciousness, he was in the lodge of his
mother’s cousin. They had nursed him back to health. When he had been strong
enough to ride, they had given him a horse and food for his journey, and sent
him on his way.
    He would have gone after the men who had killed his mother
as soon as he was able, but the news of what had happened to Summer Moon hit
his father hard. Luke McCloud had lost interest in the ranch, in his son, and
in everything else. From time to time, he drank himself into a stupor, and when
he sobered up, it was like the news of her death hit him all over again.
    When his old man finally recovered enough that he could be
left alone, Chance had gone in search of the men who had killed his mother. He
had found two of them and now only one remained. Jack Finch.
    As soon as he returned Winter Rain to her parents and paid
off the loan at the bank, he would try yet again to find the last man even
though he knew that,