Reckless Desire (11 page)

A few minutes before ten, Lancaster and Tompkins entered the cellblock. Lancaster unlocked the door to Hawk’s cell, then covered him with a rifle while the deputy shackled Hawk’s hands and feet.

“The judge is waiting,” Lancaster announced curtly. He jerked a thumb toward the door. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Fourteen

The courtroom was small and square and packed with people. I saw Pa and Rebecca sitting near the door. Pa smiled at me reassuringly and gave me a wink that seemed to say, “Don’t worry.”

I took Shadow’s arm as we took a place in the front row. Victoria sat between Shadow and Blackie, her face as pale as death. Her hands were trembling.

Inwardly I was also trembling. So much hinged on the outcome of this trial. I knew that Shadow had a gun concealed beneath his buckskin jacket. I had begged him to leave it at home, but he had refused. Hawk would not hang, Shadow had said adamantly, and he would not go back to jail.

A murmur of excited whispers went around the courtroom as Hawk entered the building. His hands and feet were shackled, and I could see the humiliation in my son’s eyes as everyone present stared at him, wondering if he had indeed killed Lyman Carter in cold blood.

As I watched, Hawk lifted his head and squared his shoulders, his eyes filling with disdain. A warrior did not show fear in the presence of his enemies.

I glanced around the room. Hawk knew these people. He had talked with them and laughed with them, but now they were the enemy. I saw Hawk’s eyes settle on Victoria, saw love soften the hard lines on his face as he gave her a ghost of a smile, then sat down in the chair the sheriff indicated.

Victoria smiled at Hawk, her eyes shining with unshed tears, and I knew she was willing him to feel her love and support.

I studied my son’s face. I saw the desperation lurking behind his eyes, knew he was humiliated to be seen bound in chains. Was he afraid? I had never known him to be frightened of anything, but now his life was at stake and I was afraid for him. Very afraid.

Judge Roberts entered the courtroom, and everybody stood up until he was seated. The charges against Hawk were read aloud. He was being tried for killing the man known as Lyman Carter.

I glanced at the members of the jury. Twelve good men, men I had talked to and laughed with at parties, men who owned shops and farms. Men who had sons of their own.

The prosecuting attorney, Simon Thompson, called Fred Brown as his first witness. Yes, Fred said, had been at the mercantile store on the day in question. He had seen the confrontation between Hawk and Lyman Carter.

“Did you see Lyman Carter pull a gun?” Thompson asked.

Fred Brown threw an apologetic glance in Hawk’s direction, then slowly shook his head. “No, sir,” he said a lengthy pause.

“Thank you, Mr. Brown,” Thompson said. “That will be all.”

Clancy Turner was the next witness. His testimony was much the same as Fred Brown’s. He had seen Lyman Carter talking to Victoria, had seen Hawk drive up, and witnessed the ensuing scuffle. He shook his head when asked if he had seen Lyman Carter each for a gun.

“No, sir,” Turner said regretfully. “But if Hawk says that’s the way it happened, then that’s the way it happened.”

Simon Thompson grinned good-naturedly, “Thank you, Mr. Turner. You may step down.” Six other witnesses were called to the stand, and they all told the same story. No one had seen Lyman barter reach for a gun.

Hawk’s face was strained and pale as the last witness took the stand. His hands were clenched into tight fists.

I glanced at the jury, and I could see that they believed Hawk was guilty. Surely, if Carter had reached for a gun, someone would have seen him.

I put my arm around Vickie’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. She was trembling, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

Simon Thompson dismissed the last witness, and Whitley Monroe stood up to present Hawk’s defense. As Pa had predicted, Monroe hadn’t lifted a finger in Hawk’s behalf. His only defense was to put Hawk on the stand and have him tell his side of the story.

Hawk stood straight and tall as he swore to tell the truth and nothing but the truth. Then, in a voice devoid of emotion, he told what had happened. He had warned Lyman Carter to leave Victoria alone, and Carter had refused. Carter had laid his hands on Victoria, and Hawk had pulled him away and hit him. There had been a fight, Carter had reached for a gun, and Hawk had stabbed him.

I watched the jury as Hawk told his story, and I knew they would find him guilty.

Hawk knew it, too. He sent a long, pleading look in his father’s direction, and Shadow nodded. My heart began to pound as Shadow reached inside his jacket, and I knew that our whole future would be determined by what happened in the next few minutes.

The judge dismissed Hawk from the witness stand, then admonished the jury to consider what had been said and reach the proper verdict.

Shadow was pulling his pistol from inside his jacket when Porter Sprague stood up.

“Your honor,” he called. “I have something to say.”

Judge Roberts frowned. “Have you been summoned as a witness?”

“No, your honor. No one ever talked to me or to my missus, here, but we were there. We saw the whole thing, and we’d like to be heard.”

“This is most unusual,” Judge Roberts muttered.

“Most unusual,” Simon Thompson said, rising to his feet. “I feel I must object.”

Judge Roberts nodded. “Objection sustained.”

“Your honor,” Porter Sprague called, striding toward the bench. “I know this is unusual and all, but this is a court of law, and I feel like the truth’s been overlooked. I have something to say, and I’m asking you to hear me out.”

“Very well,” the judge allowed after a moment. “Take the stand and be sworn.”

There was total silence in the courtroom as we waited for Porter to be sworn in. I glanced at Hawk. He was learning forward, his eyes riveted on Porter Sprague’s face. I could feel Vickie trembling, could see the tension in Shadow’s face as he waited to hear what Porter Sprague had to say.

“Proceed, Mr. Sprague,” Judge Roberts directed.

Porter Sprague looked uncomfortable in the witness box, but he spoke loud and clear. He had seen and heard the whole thing. Lyman Carter had made a pass at Victoria, and when she rebuffed him, he had refused to leave her alone. Carter had laid hold on Victoria’s arm, and when Hawk told him to let her go, he had refused. Hawk asked Carter a second time to let his wife alone, but Carter again refused and pulled Victoria closer to him instead. Hawk grabbed Carter by the arm and there was a scuffle. Hawk was winning when the stranger reached for his gun. Hawk had had no choice but to defend himself.

The judge dismissed Porter from the stand, and Helen Sprague was sworn in. She told the same story as her husband, almost word for word.

The jury was out for only a few minutes, and when they returned, the verdict was not guilty. Never had any words been more welcome.

Twenty minutes later, the courtroom was empty save for our family and Helen and Porter Sprague.

Hawk took Victoria in his arms and held her so tight I was certain her ribs would break, but she didn’t seem to mind. They stood together for a long time, oblivious to everyone else.

“Porter, Helen,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “How can we ever repay you?”

“No need,” Porter said crisply. “Shadow saved Nelda’s life, and we don’t forget a kindness.”

“I’m so glad you were there,” I said, hugging Helen. “So glad you were willing to come forward in Hawk’s behalf.”

Helen and Porter exchanged a glance I could not fathom. I looked at Shadow and saw understanding flare in his dark eyes.

“You were not there,” Shadow said slowly.

“No,” Porter admitted. “Oh, we were in town that day, but we didn’t see the fight.”

“How did you know what happened?”

Porter shrugged. “I didn’t think Hawk would get much of a trial. Everyone knows Roberts hates Indians, and Whitley is about as incompetent as can be, so I nosed around a little and when I found out everyone thought Hawk was guilty, I went out to see Victoria. She was there. She saw everything. She told us what really happened that day and we memorized it.”

“But that’s perjury,” I exclaimed.

“I don’t call it perjury,” Helen Sprague protested with righteous indignation. “I call it repaying a kindness. I’ve known Hawk since he was a boy, and I know he wouldn’t kill a man without a darn good reason. We haven’t always been close to your family, but my Nelda might not be alive today if it wasn’t for Shadow. I couldn’t sit by and let your child die when Shadow had saved mine.”

“Oh, Helen,” I wailed, and gave her another hug.

Porter grinned at Shadow. “So long, neighbor,” he said jovially.

“So long. Neighbor,” Shadow replied.

“I just can’t believe it,” I said, watching the Spragues leave the courthouse. “Who’d have thought Porter and Helen would lie for Hawk?”

Shadow shook his head. “It is hard to believe,” he agreed, and then he smiled. “Let us go home.”

Pa and Rebecca left for Steel’s Crossing the next day. From there they would catch a train bound for the East. They would be gone until spring.

The day after Pa and Rebecca left for Pennsylvania, an Indian showed up at our front door. He was tall and strikingly handsome, with long, straight black hair, deep-set black eyes, and a faint scar on his left cheek. I guessed him to be in his mid-twenties.

“I have come to see Two Hawks Flying,” he said in a low voice.

Two Hawks Flying. I had not heard that name in years. Most of the people in Bear Valley were ignorant of the fact that Shadow had once been a Cheyenne war chief, most of those who knew had forgotten about it over the years.

Two Hawks Flying. It was another name for another time. A name I had rarely used.

I nodded as I stepped away from the door. “Shadow,” I called over my shoulder. “You have a visitor.”

Shadow came to the door, one eyebrow arching in surprise when he saw the young man waiting for him. “How can I help you?”

“I am looking for Two Hawks Flying of the Cheyenne,” the young man said.

Shadow nodded. “You have found him.”

“I have left the reservation,” our visitor said. “I have come here seeking work.”

“Who sent you to me?”

“The grandson of Eagle-That-Soars-in-the-Sky.”

“I see.” Eagle-That-Soars-in-the-Sky had been the shaman who had come to Bear Valley to instruct Hawk in the Sun Dance ritual when Hawk was sixteen. “What kind of work are you looking for?” Shadow asked.

“Any kind. I am good with horses and cattle.”

“You are Cheyenne?”

“Yes. My father was Tasunke Hinzi.”

“I knew him well. How are you called?”

“The whites call me William, but my people call me Cloud Walker.”

“Which name do you prefer?”

A trace of a smile touched the young man’s lips. “Which do you think?”

Shadow grinned. “Cloud Walker it shall be.”

Shadow looked at me then, and I nodded. If he wanted to hire the stranger, I had no objections.

“Very well,” Shadow said. “You may sleep in the barn, or in the lodge behind our house.”

“The lodge,” Cloud Walker said quickly.

“Come,” Shadow said, “I will show you the way.”

I stood at the kitchen window watching the young man stow his few belongings inside our old lodge. We had brought it back home after Hawk and Victoria moved into their own house. It was a constant reminder of the old life, a vivid symbol to our neighbors that this had once been Indian land.

In the days that followed, Cloud Walker proved that he was indeed a good man with horses. He broke them to saddle and bridle much as Shadow did, gently and slowly, never pushing a young, unbroken horse too hard, never demanding more out of the horse than the animal could give. He brushed and curried our horses with loving care, doctored the sick ones, assisted foaling mares. He became quick friends with Blackie, for the two shared a mutual love for all God’s four-legged creatures.

I wondered that Cloud Walker was not married, but I did not feel I had the right to pry into his private life. He was a quiet man, who seldom smiled and never laughed. I sensed he had experienced a tragedy in his life, and late one night we learned his story.

Shadow and Cloud Walker were sitting outside sharing a pipe after dinner. I sat inside near the window, mending a pair of Blackie’s jeans. The window was open, and I could hear the men talking.

“How did you happen to come here?” Shadow asked.

“You are well-known on the reservation,” Cloud Walker answered. “Often late at night the old men speak of Custer and the Greasy Grass and of the chiefs that fought in the battle. Your name is often mentioned. I was only a child then, of course, but I have often dreamed of what it must have been like that day.”

“It was a good day for us,” Shadow said, smiling with the memory. “A good day, and a bad day. I have often thought that the whites would not have hated our people quite so much if we had not killed Custer and all his men.”

“Did you see Custer?”

“Yes, but I never got close to him.”

“Some of the white men on the reservation say Custer was not killed that day. They believe he was taken alive and tortured by one of the Sioux tribes.”

“No,” Shadow said. “If the Sioux had captured Custer, the Cheyenne would have heard about it.”

“My father was killed at the Greasy Grass,” Cloud Walker remarked.

Shadow nodded. “Tasunke Hinzi was a brave warrior. He killed many of the bluecoats that day. Crazy Horse said your father was wounded many times, but he continued to fight until he was too weak to hold a weapon.”

Cloud Walker nodded. He had heard the story many times.

The men were silent for a moment, and then Shadow asked, “Why did you leave the reservation?”

“My wife was pregnant, and she was ill. When her time came, I went to the shaman, but he could not help her. I have hated the whites all my life. Never have I gone to them for anything. But my woman was dying, and so I went to the Army doctor and asked him for help. He was playing poker with some of the officers. I told him my wife was very sick and in labor with our first child. He said not to worry, that first babies took a long time to be born and that he would come to our lodge in an hour or so. I begged him to come quickly, but he refused. An hour would be soon enough, he said.