Reckless Desire (8 page)

Drawing a small pouch from the waistband of his pants, he poured a generous amount of tobacco into the palm of his hand, then sprinkled it to the four directions.

“Hear me, Man Above,” he cried. “I have need of your help.”

He stood there for over an hour, his arms upraised, his face turned toward the sun, his heart pouring out a prayer to Maheo.

The sun climbed higher in the sky, and sweat trickled down Shadow’s arms and back and chest, and still he stood there, unmoving, his whole being focused on that which he desired.

Another hour passed, two, and he dropped to his knees, unmindful of the heat or the gnawing hunger in his belly.

The fourth hour came and went and still he did not move, only knelt there, his lips moving in prayer.

It was late in the afternoon when he heard a great rushing of mighty wings. Hardly daring to hope, he turned his head to the left and let out a long sigh as two red-tailed hawks appeared in the sky, wheeling and diving in perfect unison until they hovered above his head.

“Be strong,” the male hawk cried in a loud voice. “Be strong, and you will prevail over your enemies.”

“Be brave,” the female cried in a loud voice. “Be brave, and you will have nothing to fear.”

Another rush of wings, and they were gone.

Utterly fatigued, Shadow slumped to the ground, his heart at peace.

He remained there for thirty minutes, his eyes closed, and then he mounted Smoke and rode down the hill toward town, and Hawk.

Chapter Eight

Shadow was gone when I woke up. Rising, I dressed quickly and went into the kitchen. After drinking a cup of hot chocolate, I began to make the pie I had promised Hawk.

While it baked, I tidied up the house, my eyes wandering to the front window several times in hopes of seeing Shadow. Where had he gone? Knowing him as I did, I was certain he had gone off alone to seek guidance from Man Above.

It was just after noon when I went into town. Hawk was pacing back and forth when I entered the cellblock, and my heart welled with sympathy for my son. I remembered the time I had visited Shadow in the stockade at Fort Apache in Arizona Territory. Conditions there had been much worse than those Hawk found himself in now, but Hawk’s eyes reflected the same quiet desperation I had once seen in Shadow’s.

“I brought the pie,” I said, forcing a note of cheer into my voice, “and a change of clothing.”

Hawk nodded. “Have you heard anything?”

“The trial is set for Friday. It’s only three days,” I said. “That’s not so long.”

Hawk swore under his breath. “Every day behind these bars is like a year,” he exclaimed angrily.

“I know.” I slipped his clean clothes through the bars, and then the pie. “There’s a cloth and a bar of soap wrapped inside your shirt.”

“Thank you,
nahkoa
. I did not mean to shout at you.”

“It’s all right.”

I spent an hour with Hawk. We didn’t talk much. He asked about the twins and I told him that Lydia was staying with them, and that Blackie was looking after the stock. The mare hadn’t foaled yet.

Leaving the jail, I went to visit Victoria. She was looking a little better, though her eyes were haunted and sad. I stayed with her until she fell asleep, and then I drove over to Pa’s place.

Rebecca had persuaded Pa to go back East to visit Beth, but they had postponed their trip, neither of them wanting to leave until after Hawk’s trial.

Pa ranted and raved about the injustice of it all. Arresting a man for protecting his wife. Who’d ever heard of such a thing?

It was a delight to see Pa’s temper flare, I mused with a grin. He was a sight to behold when he was riled. As a girl, I had always said his temper matched the red in his moustache, and though his moustache was all gray now, his temper hadn’t cooled a bit.

Rebecca let him carry on for several minutes, and then she laid her hand on his arm.

“Sam, that’s enough,” she said quietly, and Pa’s tirade came to an abrupt halt. “Hannah, is there anything we can do?”

“No. Judge Roberts is hearing the case, and Whitley Monroe has been appointed to defend Hawk.”

“Roberts!” Pa flared. “Clive Roberts is an Indian hater from way back, and that limp wrist Whitley Monroe won’t lift a finger in Hawk’s behalf.”

“I know,” I agreed morosely. “But what can we do? Shadow asked Judge Roberts for a postponement until we can get another lawyer, but he refused. The trial is set for this Friday.”

“Damn,” Pa muttered. “I wish we had time to get ahold of Ethan Smythe. I hear he’s made himself quite a reputation as a defense lawyer back in St. Louis.”

“So I’ve heard,” I said. “But there isn’t time.” I chewed on my lower lip for a moment. “Pa…”

“I’m listening.”

“I’m worried. Shadow promised Hawk that he wouldn’t hang or go to jail.”

Pa frowned. “What are you saying, girl?”

“Just what you think I am. If the jury finds Hawk guilty, Shadow’s going to break him out of jail.”

“Oh, no!” Rebecca gasped. “Hannah, you mustn’t let him do such a thing.”

I uttered a short laugh. “Me, stop Shadow? You know that’s impossible.”

Rebecca nodded. “I know. Once he puts his mind to something, he does it.”

“There’ll be hell to pay if Shadow crosses the law,” Pa mused aloud. “Does he understand that?”

“Of course he understands, but he doesn’t care. He made Hawk a promise, and he’ll keep it or die trying.”

It was dark when I got home. Worried and lonely, I paced the parlor floor, my ears listening for Shadow’s footsteps. Ten times in as many minutes I went to the window and looked out, but saw only darkness.

Too upset to eat, I drank several cups of lukewarm coffee, then sank down in a corner of the couch, staring into the fireplace.

I had almost dozed off when I heard Shadow’s step in the hall. Rising, I flew into his arms, lifting my face for his kiss. He was here. He was safe. For now, nothing else mattered.

I sought comfort in his arms that night, needing to feel his strength, not only physically but spiritually. I knew he had gone to commune with Maheo that afternoon and though he had not yet told me what had happened, I sensed that something significant had transpired between Shadow and his special spirits, the hawks.

Shadow made love to me tenderly that night. It was not passion that forged us together, not desire, but need. I found strength in his nearness, a sense of renewal and rebirth. Hawk had been born out of our love, and that same love would see us through the trying days ahead.

Later, our bodies still united, Shadow told me of his trip to the hills, of the thoughts that had drifted down the corridors of his mind, of the heat and the hunger, and of the hawks. I marveled at what he told me. Always, the hawks had been there when he needed them most, and I listened in awe as he related their words.

I was nearly asleep when I felt Shadow’s lips brush my cheek, and far off in the distance I thought I heard the shrill cry of a red-tailed hawk calling for its mate.

Chapter Nine

Sheriff Bill Lancaster grinned wolfishly as he slid the breakfast tray under the bars.

“Two more days, redskin,” he drawled. “Two more days and you’ll be hanging higher than Haman.”

Hawk stood near the cell door, his eyes filling with anger as the lawman continued to taunt him.

“Yep,” Lancaster went on cheerfully, “just two more days and you’ll get a taste of the white man’s justice. They’ll drop that rope around your neck, snug the knot under your ear, pull it tight, and let ‘er rip. Probably break your neck nice and clean. Then again, it might not. Might be you’ll kick and choke a minute or two before you finally strangle to death.” Lancaster nodded. “I reckon everybody in town will turn out for the show. Maybe even that pretty little wife of yours.”

Hawk clenched his fists at his sides as the sheriff mentioned Victoria. His whole body grew tense as the urge to kill swept over him.

“Yeah,” Lancaster went on, “she’s a pretty little thing. Who knows, I might even court her myself. Once you’re out of the way, she’ll need a man to look after her. It would surely pleasure me to show her what it’s like to have a real man in her bed instead of a lousy, stinking savage.”

Rage drove all else from Hawk’s mind as Lancaster spoke of bedding Victoria. With a wild cry, he lunged at the lawman, his right arm snaking through the bars to close around Lancaster’s throat.

Bill Lancaster struggled violently, his hand groping for the gun holstered on his right hip. As the world began to go black, he drew the gun and fired.

The slug ripped into Hawk’s left side, tearing into flesh and muscle, but Hawk kept hold of Lancaster until the lawman’s eyes rolled back in his head and he went limp.

Realizing what he had done, Hawk released Lancaster and the sheriff fell heavily to the floor. For a moment Hawk did not move. He had killed the sheriff and now they would hang him for sure.

Reaching through the bars, he searched the sheriff’s pockets, muttering a prayer of gratitude when he found the key to his cell. Unlocking the door, he stepped outside. Grabbing Lancaster’s gun, he hurried out of the jail, unmindful of the blood dripping down his side.

Lancaster’s horse was standing hipshot at the hitch rail and Hawk swung into the saddle, grunting with pain. The initial numbness was wearing off now and the wound throbbed steadily.

People were pouring out of the stores located near the jail, drawn by the sound of the gunshot. Ignoring the excited questions of those nearest him, Hawk lashed the horse with the end of the reins. Behind him, someone yelled, “Stop! Stop or I’ll shoot!” but Hawk did not slow down or look back.

He rode hard, heading for the hills where he had gone to seek his vision. He pushed the horse to the limits of its endurance, knowing he had to put as much distance as possible between himself and the posse that was certain to follow.

Damn! What had he done? Why had he let Lancaster goad him into violence? Now he would be a hunted man for as long as he lived. He couldn’t go home. He couldn’t go to his father or grandfather for help. The law would expect him to turn to his family for help, and they would be there, waiting for him to show up.

He rode hard until he was about a hundred yards from the hills. There, he slid off the horse and slapped the animal hard on the rump, sending it back to town. His only hope was to cover his trail and lie low for a while. Perhaps, in time, he could make his way to the reservation and hide out. Perhaps he could find a way get word to Vickie and his parents. Perhaps.

Lightheaded and weak from loss of blood, he ripped a strip of material from his shirt and wrapped it around his middle and then, using all the skill his father had taught him long ago, he walked toward the hills, laboriously erasing all sign of his passing as he went along.

Sweat dripped into his eyes and trickled down his back as he began to climb upward. Thorn bushes snagged his clothes and scratched his face and arms. The constant movement sent little stabs of pain shooting along his side, and when he touched the makeshift bandage swathed around his middle, he felt the warm stickiness of blood seeping through the cloth. And still he kept climbing, his teeth gritted against the pain. He had to get away, to hide. No one would believe he hadn’t meant to kill Lancaster. No one would understand the deep-seated hatred the lawman had aroused when he talked of bedding Victoria.

White men, Hawk thought bitterly. They had robbed the Indian of his homeland, of his way of life, of his freedom. On the reservation, they tried to turn the Indians into imitation white men. The government insisted the warriors cut their hair and raise cattle. They forced the children to go to school and learn the white man’s tongue and the white man’s ways. The Cheyenne and the Sioux were forbidden to practice their religion, and the Sun Dance, the most sacred ritual of all, had to be performed in secret, as though it were a thing of shame.

He had lived with whites all his life, and only now did he truly begin to hate them. He thought of Lancaster laying hands on Victoria, and the thought made him physically ill.

He climbed for what seemed like hours before he reached a small cave recessed deep in the side of the hill. Erasing the last of his tracks, he dropped to his hands and knees and crawled into the narrow cavern, praying that it was empty. The cave smelled faintly of animal excrement, but it was an old smell. Crawling toward the back of the cave, Hawk closed his eyes and surrendered to the darkness hovering all around him.

Chapter Ten

I threw a worried glance at Shadow as he pulled the team to a halt before the jail. A crowd was gathered outside and everyone was talking rapidly, gesturing toward the end of town. I caught Hawk’s name and felt a tremor of fear start in the pit of my stomach. Something had happened to Hawk!

Shadow helped me to the ground and we elbowed our way through the crowd toward the door of the sheriff’s office. Phil Tompkins, one of Lancaster’s deputies, blocked our way.

“What has happened?” Shadow asked.

“That kid of yourn escaped from jail,” Tompkins said brusquely. “Nearly killed Bill Lancaster doing it.”

“Oh, no,” I murmured.

“Where is the sheriff now?” Shadow demanded.

“Inside. The doc’s with him.”

“I want to talk to him.”

“Maybe later.”

“Now,” Shadow said, and pushed past Tompkins.

I followed Shadow into the sheriff’s office. Bill Lancaster was sitting in the black leather chair behind his desk. He looked pale, and his throat was bruised and discolored, but he did not appear to be badly hurt.

“You’ll be all right,” Dr. Henderson was saying. “Throat’ll be sore for a day or two, but no permanent damage has been done.”

Closing his bag with a flourish, the doctor tipped his hat in my direction and left the office.

Lancaster glared at Shadow. “Get the hell out of here,” he rasped. “I’ve had all the trouble I want with your family for one day.”

“What happened?” Shadow asked.

Lancaster shrugged. “I got too close to that boy of yours and he grabbed me. Nearly strangled me to death.”