Savage Tempest (9 page)

“What were you doing that was so hard for him?” Joylynn asked, leaning forward so that she could look more directly into his eyes.

“While stalking the deer, I had to move a small
bush before me, crawling, and pausing for long intervals as I watched the deer for signs of alarm. Lying flat, I waited to crawl again, doing so across long stretches of prairie. My brother's body would not tolerate any of this. Even I learned the excruciating patience that was necessary to stalk the deer.”

He drew his legs up before him and locked his arms around them as he gazed pensively into the flames. “Entering my teen years, I was allowed to track bear,” he said. “I am very glad my brother was not with me one day when I was doing so, for surely one or both of us would have perished.”

“What happened?” Joylynn asked, her eyes anxious.

He turned his gaze toward her. “I rounded a point of rock high in the mountains and came face to face with my first grizzly,” he said. “The bear rose, towering above me. In that brief moment of indecision, which only the eagle recognizes in the snake, I shot forward between the massive arms of the bear and plunged my lance into its heart.”

Joylynn gasped and turned pale.

“I dodged the crushing sweeps of its paws, running, inches from death, until the grizzly finally fell,” High Hawk said.

Seeing how impressed she was by this tale, he squared his shoulders and told her another. “Often I rode recklessly as I hunted buffalo with my lance,” he said. “My friends and I drove turkeys from the mountain ravines onto the plains. Riding
our ponies, we chased the turkeys until they tired; then we youths swept among the turkeys, snatching them from the ground.”

“How interesting,” Joylynn said. “I . . . I . . . remember my father bringing home wild turkeys for my mother to prepare. Thanksgiving was when they were the most sought.”

“Thanksgiving?” High Hawk asked, raising an eyebrow. “What is this thing . . . Thanksgiving?”

“It was a time for giving thanks,” she explained.

And then, knowing that she wouldn't be allowed to just sit by as the other women of the village worked, she asked, “What are my duties today?”

“The horse care falls to women,” High Hawk replied. “They care for the animals each day, usually in the morning after their morning meal.”

“What . . . is . . . required of them?” Joylynn asked guardedly, though she was sure she was up to this task. She knew everything about how to care for horses.

“The women take the manure from the corral and dispose of it in the river,” he said, seeing that this comment made Joylynn wince. “Then they go to the coulees to cut grass, which they haul home on their backs and store for fodder. Sometimes the women cut cottonwood bark to feed the horses.”

“And . . . which of those things . . . will I be made to do today?” Joylynn asked.

“All of it,” High Hawk said matter-of-factly.

No.

She couldn't believe it.

She had never realized an Indian woman's life was so hard.

But she would not allow herself to look weaker than they. She would show High Hawk and everyone else that she could take whatever he and his mother dished out to her.

“And I assume you expect me to join the women even now?” Joylynn asked, challenging him with her eyes.

“
Ho
, now,” High Hawk said, amused at how she was trying to disguise her dismay at what was expected of her today. “The women leave as soon as they have fed their husband and children the morning meal. I imagine most of them are already outside in their husbands' corrals, scooping up manure.”

Although Joylynn had always taken special care of her own horse, never leaving manure standing in Swiftie's corral, the fact remained that it was only one horse's droppings. From what she had seen of High Hawk's corral, there would be a lot of manure to scoop up and carry away.

And that was only the one corral she could see.

“Do I have to clean all of your corrals?” she asked.

“One is all that will be required of you today,” High Hawk said, rising and playfully holding aside the entrance flap for her. “The one behind my tepee.”

“Well, thank
you
, kind sir,” Joylynn said sarcastically,
hating to leave the tepee without changing into clean clothes. She even had the private chore of relieving herself to see to, and wondered where on earth she might go in broad daylight to do that.

She would go into the thick shadows of the forest not far from his corral. She just hoped that the sentries wouldn't think she was trying to sneak away and come upon her in the middle of her personal chore.

She would never be able to live down the embarrassment!

But knowing how asinine it was to think of being embarrassed by anything while being treated in such an ungodly way, she lifted her chin and walked briskly past High Hawk. Then she realized that she was barefoot.

Sighing heavily, she turned and walked past him again into the tepee. After slipping her shoes on, she left again, her head held high.

She found a wooden bucket beside the corral, and a shovel made of bone. She was glad that the day was not yet unbearably hot, as it had been yesterday. She hurried through the chore, all the while imagining that the stink of manure was soaking right into her pores. It seemed to take forever before she had hauled the 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.

“What now?” Joylynn asked, sighing heavily.

“You do not think you are finished for the day, do you?” Blanket Woman snapped.

“No, 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.

“Do not look as though I was going to use the hatchet on you,” Blanket Woman said, cackling as she saw Joylynn's horrified expression.

“I 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.”

“The 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.”

“That horse
is
mine,” Joylynn protested, not wanting to believe that Swiftie belonged to someone else. “It has been mine for many years. My
horse and I went through all kinds of adventures together when I worked as a Pony Express rider.”

“I 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.”

“I 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.

“Just . . . slipped . . . out?” Blanket Woman said, squinting into Joylynn's eyes in wonderment. “What is such talk as that?”

“White 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's
trunk, 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 behind her. Someone was approaching her through the trees.

Her eyes widened when she found High Hawk's brother coming toward her, smiling. She held the hatchet at her side as he kept approaching, his one leg dragging as he struggled to walk as straight as possible. It was obvious that he was embarrassed by his appearance. He looked into her eyes one moment, smiling, then down at the ground, his smile erased, the next.

“Good morning, Sleeping Wolf,” Joylynn said as he stepped up to her.

She felt awkward, not knowing what else to say to him.

She could not help wondering what had brought him into the forest.

“I have come to help,” Sleeping Wolf said, taking the hatchet from her. “I watched. I saw how hard it was for you to remove the bark. Let me do it for you. My mother need never know.”

“I . . . I . . . don't want to be deceitful,” Joylynn murmured. She stepped away from the tree as he came closer, but the first time he tried to cut a strip of bark from the tree, he dropped the hatchet and
fell to the ground, groaning with pain as he grabbed at his back.

“Oh, no,” Joylynn said, bending quickly beside him to help him up.

But before she had the chance, he managed to get to his feet and hurried away as fast as his crippled body would take him. Obviously, he was embarrassed at his failure to help her.

Too stunned at first to do anything but watch him, Joylynn then ran after him, hoping to soothe him. She was stopped when Blanket Woman stepped from behind a tree, blocking her way. Her eyes were filled with venomous anger.

“I saw what happened,” Blanket Woman said, leaning into Joylynn's face. “I had come to check how you were doing, and what do I find? My crippled son trying to help you, then falling and embarrassing himself in front of you, a white woman.”

“You look at me as though it is my fault,” Joylynn said, taking slow steps away from Blanket Woman. “I didn't ask him to help me. He just came and took my hatchet, and before I knew it, he . . . he . . . was on the ground.”

“Did you not hear me say I saw how it happened?” Blanket Woman said tightly. “I do not fault you for what he did, but I would fault you if you went to him and made him feel even more foolish.”

“I would never do that,” Joylynn said softly.

“Then turn around and go back to what you
were doing before my son interfered,” Blanket Woman said, taking Joylynn by the arm and turning her back toward the cottonwood forest.

“I have to admit that I did not peel even one strip of bark from the tree with the hatchet,” Joylynn said reluctantly. “I just couldn't do it. How on earth do the other women manage it?”

“It takes practice,” Blanket Woman said, releasing her hold on Joylynn as they stepped up to the tree where Joylynn had done only a small bit of damage.

It did not take long for the older woman to cut several strips of bark, and she did not stop until she had many piled up on the ground.

“Shouldn't I be doing that?” Joylynn asked, her voice drawn.

Blanket Woman turned a glare Joylynn's way, then continued her work.

“Place the bark in the basket,” Blanket Woman said, laying the hatchet at the bottom of the basket before Joylynn put the bark in it.

Blanket Woman placed her hands at the small of her back, stretched and groaned. “I have done enough of your labor today,” she said.

Joylynn wanted to say that she hadn't asked Blanket Woman to do it for her, but she held her tongue. She was grateful for whatever help she could get.

Joylynn started placing the bark in stacks in the basket but stopped when Blanket Woman placed a sudden hand on her wrist.

Joylynn looked questioningly into the older woman's faded brown eyes.

“I have something more to say about Sleeping Wolf,” she said tightly. “Stay away from him. Never give him cause to believe a woman can look past his twisted back. I don't want him to be hurt by rejection in the end.”

“I . . . would . . . never do anything to hurt your son,” Joylynn said, yanking her wrist away from Blanket Woman. “I like him as a friend. Surely he realizes that.”

“Just listen to what I say,” Blanket Woman said heatedly. “Heed my words, white woman. You must not talk to Sleeping Wolf, or encourage him, or you will pay dearly for it.”

Joylynn had never done or said anything to this man that might make him believe she cared for him as anything but just a friend. Stunned by the warning, she stared into Blanket Woman's eyes.

When she saw fiery determination there, she knew better than to try to explain anything else about her feelings for Sleeping Wolf. The older woman was so blinded by her need to keep her son safe from a “woman's clutches,” she did not know the truth when it was right in front of her.