Sweet Savage Surrender (6 page)

T
he
buffalo
they shot in the summer would carry them through the winter months.  The summer months were a time of opportunity for fellowship and pursuit of crafts. The men spent their days hunting, repairing weapons or making new ones.  Women tanned hides, gathered berries, fashioned containers, cooked, tended babies, and gossiped.  Children and youth 
performed
chores such as gathering wood, carrying water or caring for the horses.  After that,  they were free to play.  At night they all gathered to tell stories and dance.  It was also a time when young people courted one another.  Skyraven sensed that Lone Wolf might seek her out
,
but that thought did not make her smile.   Was it because of Whispering Wind's possessiveness or was she foolishly remembering her dream of the white man?  Whatever it was
,
she felt aversion towards
the cocky, self-assured brave.

As if confirming her intuition, however, when
Buffalo
’s
Brother finished speaking,
Lone Wolf did look  around  for her and spotting Skyraven in her place in the circle
,
smiled at her.  It was as if he had been waiting to show off for her.  Now that he knew that she would see his performance, he strutted abo
ut lik
e a
prairie
rooster. 

"Ayee!" he crowed.
He and two other braves crouched low and
,
with a leap, sprang into the middle of the circle to perform a buffalo hunt dance.  Lone Wolf had made sure that Skyraven had seen his face before he placed the make believe rawhide buffalo head mask over his own head.  It was an honor to be chosen for the dance and for the scouting which followed
,
and he made it obvious he wanted  her to be aware of his honor.  Skyraven took great delight in ignoring him.  Let that cool his
pride!

Whispering Wind watched from her place on the opposite side of the circle of dancers, giving Skyraven her usual frown.  As the dancers moved slowly around in the circle, she had seen an expression of desire for Skyraven reflected in Lone Wolf's eyes. He had not even glanced in Whispering Wind's direction
,
and this angered her.  The Chief's son was making it all too evident that he wanted Skyraven for his wife.   Whispering Wind succumbed to her anger and resentment.  It would not be!  She wanted him.  That half-white, blue-eyed
girl would not take her brave.

"I must  do something to s
how  Skyraven at a disadvantage,
"
she said to herself.
  Somehow she would find a way, she vowed,  scuffing the toe of her
moccasin
in the dirt.  She would watch and wait, for surely Skyraven was much too sure of herself and the power she held because of her grandfather's prominence in the tribe. Hopefully  it would lead her into some foolishness that
could be
reported.  With that thought in mind
,
Whispering Wind determined t
o watch Skyraven's every move.

Unaware of her rival's intent, Skyraven looked upon Lone Wolf and the other two dancers as they came to an end of
their ceremonial movements.
The dance ended, the three braves removed their masks and jumped astride brightly painted and decorated horses
, galloping
away from the village.  They would be away  hunting   for  the buffalo herds for three days or more as part of the ceremony.  As he galloped past her
,
Lone Wolf bent low and touched Skyraven's forehead with the tip of his feathers.  It was the beginning of what she had sensed was inevitable.  But how was she going to graciously deny him without causing ill will?  Though at times the handsome brave annoyed her with his arrogance, his father was a man she deeply respec
ted and didn't want to anger.

Oh, if only I were already spoken for
, she thought.
  The whiteman's
visage
intruded once again into her mind, dressed in the same ceremonial dress as Lone Wolf had worn.  A foolish dream.  He was a
soldier, she scolded
herself.  As far away from being an Indian as the earth was from the moon.  His kind scorned Indians.  Hadn't such words passed f
rom his lips?
He would never even look twice at an Indian girl.  She must not allow her thoughts to indulge in silly visions.  Truth was truth.  He was white and she, though sharing white blood, was in spirit and manner of living an Indian.  And as such she would take an India
n husband.  But not Lone Wolf!

Skyraven watched as Lone Wolf's departing form became smaller and smaller, feeling a sense of relief that he would be gone for a time.  It had been her concern that somehow he might learn about the whiteman and cause trouble.  But for the moment he
would be elsewhere occupied. 

The br
aves were well on their way, and
  the male children and the Indian maids who wished to attract the departing warriors' attention, followed after the retreating horsemen. With all the excitement going on, now was the time for Skyraven to slip away.  She left the circle of dancers and returned to her own lodge just long enough to reach inside the front flap for the
moccasins
and robes she had placed there earlier.   She was so anxious  to return to the stranger that she did not notice the dark brooding eyes watching her as she filled a leather pouch with meat and vegeta
bles before leaving  the camp.

"So"  murmured Whispering Wind, noting Skyraven's actions,
“
she has something very important going on during the night.  Something that requires new
moccasins
and two robes."   The figure in the shadows smiled a cruel, calculating smile.  Those
moccasins
were too lar
ge for Skyraven's small feet, n
or did a woman take such care with her grooming unless a man was in her thoughts.  Was it possible that Skyraven planned a meeting with one of the braves left behind?  How she hoped that was what was planned.  Lone Wolf would be deeply angered to find himself
second in Skyraven's thoughts.

Whispering Wind wanted no more dancing now that Lone Wolf  had galloped away.  She had more important things on her mind as she left the Indian women.  She could
hardly believe how quickly Skyraven had dared to act, and yet, even now, Skyraven walked rapidly toward the outskirts of the camp.
Perhaps  before
returning to her own lodge, Whispering Wind
would find out  just where  Skyraven was going and why.

Chapter Six

The evening air was becoming somewhat chilly, awakening John Hanlen  from his deep slumber.  He opened his eyes slowly, expecting full well to be within his camp tent
,
but instead he found himself surrounded by dirt and rock.   Dear God!  He was entombed within the earth. At first he did not know where he was.  His heart quickened as he lifted himself up on his elbow and glanced around at his surroundings.  A cave!  His eyes darted back and forth across the small opening as he remembered.  A chill ran up his back as
he realized how close he had come to death.

The Indian girl, where was she?  Clenching his jaw he tried to remember. 
She had spoken of a ceremony, h
ad told him to wait for her here.  She was coming back, or so she had said. 
Trust me
, he remembered her telling him.  Trust an Indian after what he'd gone through?  Bitterness threatened his reason until he remembered the gentleness in her large blue eyes.  He recalled what had happened earlier in the day.  Those leering savages, his dead comrades and the tortures he would have endured
--
if not for the lovely Indian maiden.   She had rescued him at risk of her own well-being.  He owed
her his sanity, his very life.

"Skyraven.  Beautiful raven haired, blue eyed Skyraven."  He repeated her name over to himself.  His countrymen would call her a savage, a squaw.  Still, he had never met anyone mo
re gentle or sincere than she.

Unconsciously he rubbed his hand over the stubble of his beard.  What he wouldn't give for a razor right now
.
  He laughed softly to himself.  What a ridiculous thought.  The stubble of beard was the last thing he should  be worried about.  H
e was lucky to be alive.
Never had his life meant s
o much to him as it did now. 

Images flashed before his eyes
  as he
vividly
recalled
the bodies of the soldiers who had not been as lucky as he, but he quickly banished them from his mind.  It was over now.  Torturing himself with such visions  would cause him helpless anguish. All he could do was pray for the dead and make a vow that they had
not died in vain.

But a
corner of his mind screamed for vengeance.  Ride back to
Fort
Lyon
, gather a
troop
of soldiers and retaliate for what those heathen bastards had done. There were some people who said that  all Indians were alike and that the only good Indian was a dead Indian.  But no!  That kind of thinking would only make
the rivers run red with blood.

The lovely Indian girl who had saved him had told him the Utes who attacked his soldiers were  her enemies too,  that they were vicious warriors.  It was logical.  How could all Indians be alike any more than  all whitemen were identical?  Hadn't he known some men who were real bastards?  Indeed he had.  Suppose he were judged as being of the same tawdry mettle?  Skyraven had said that her tribe was not like the chanting naked heathens who had murdered his fellow soldiers and taken him captive in order to torture him.  He believed her.  They couldn't have anyone as gentle and kind as Skyraven among them if they were
nothing but heathen savages.

She had put her own life in
jeopardy
to rescue him.  She didn't have to do that.  She didn't even know him.   She told him that the spirits had led her to him, that her gra
ndfather was a
healer and holy man and that her tribe, the Arapaho
,
were buffalo hunters not warriors.  She had blue eyes and spoke English fluently.  That  sure didn't
sound savage to him.

H
is whole idea about Indians was changing since he had met her.   He would have a message  for those who thought Indians were all alike.  When he got back to
Fort
Lyon
,  he could tell them that by first hand experience he had learned that it simply was not true. From now on it would be hard for him to listen to the stories he had heard.  He would want to judge thi
ngs for himself.

"Oh Skyraven there is so much more I must learn about you and your people"  he murmured.  He could still feel the gentle touch of her hand upon his brow.  The wounds and bruises on his arms felt much better now thanks to her knowledge of
medicine.

She had left her buf
f
alo robe, a bowl, a knife, some food and drinking water for him. Taking a bit of
pemmican
from the pouch she had left by his bedside, John scooped it into his mouth and began chewing.  He couldn't say that he
liked
the taste.  It was quite tart and unlike anything he had ever eaten before.  In time he could probably get used to it if he had to.  Right now he had no choice.  Food was food.    His nearly empty stomach was crying out for anything to fill it.  It had been damned nice of her to leave anything at all.  Reaching for the water pouch, he took a big drink to wash the
pemmican
down then  pulled the robe tightly around his shoulders as if  by doing
so he could hasten her arrival
.

The cave was much cooler now.  He slipped his light blue trousers on over his underwear.  His dark blue coat had been torn and one of the
epaulets
was hanging by a thread but it was still wearable. 
Only his hat and boots were missing, but hell,
Hanlen
reflected, he’d been lucky to escape with his skin.
Certainly he wouldn't have if those chanting savages had had their
way.

T
he light of the full moon shown down
,
illuminating the mouth of the cave.  Peaceful.  He could hear a bubbling brook nearby.  Everything was calm and serene.  Like the lovely blue-eyed Indian girl.  Her touch had been gentle, yet strong
,
and her voice as melodious as the night wind through the trees.  John Hanlen found himself anxious to see her again.  There were so many questions he wanted to ask her, so many things he wanted to know about her people, about
her
. 

A sudden rustle in the undergrowth  outside th
e cave
disturbed
his
reverie
, h
is training as a soldier
instantly
put
ting
him on  guard.  "Damn!"  He'd be easy prey for a mountain lion, bear or two-legged kind of predator, he thought as weak as he was.  Picking up the knife the Indian girl had left
,
he  prepared himself nonetheless to at l
east make an effort to defend
himself.  He heard footsteps and waited.  It was the Indian girl.  He could hear her voice calling
to him. 

In a few moments Skyraven appeared at the mouth of the cave, a big smile of greeting on her lips.  The sight of the blond haired white man made her feel lightheaded and lighthearted as none of the young men of her tribe did.  Somehow the feelings  she had for this man were different than anything she had ever experienced.  Perhaps be
cause he was so....so unusual.

"It's you.....!"  John Hanlen let the knife slip through his fingers.  It made a soft thud as it fell
to the ground.   "Skyraven..."

"I have brought you something for your feet and robes to keep you warm during the night.
  It  can often grow cold...."

She stepped closer
,
placing the
moccasins
and the two buffalo robes at his feet.  He was looking at her again as he had when he first opened his eyes and gazed upon her face. Only this time he seemed to hold even more admiration
for her and this pleased her.

John Hanlen's eyes raked over her.  Oh, how lovely she
looked tonight.  The white doe
skin dress with beautiful beading and long fringe clung closely to her tall form.  Around her head was a red beaded head band with three yellow feathers.  Her blue-black hair framed her  pleasingly round face and tumbled down around her shoulders, ending far below her waist.  Her smile was a joy to behold, her teeth were gleaming w
hite, her lips full and sensual
.  Her large blue eyes were surrounded by thick long black lashes and black arched eyebrows. While she was away he had almost forgotten how truly beautiful she was
,
but now he feasted his eyes.   

At first he was speechless, t
ongue
-
tied.  Her beauty took his breath away.  Finally he managed to say  "I missed
you while you were gone....."

"You seem to be feeling better, Yellow-hair, I am glad for that."  She stepped closer, feeling his head for any signs of fever.   There were none.  Lowering herself gracefully to the ground she took a seat beside him. "You call me by my name. 
By what  name are you called?"

"My name is John."

"John?"  Picking up one of the buffalo robes
,
she held it out to him. "John...."  She seemed to like the
feel of his name on her lips.

"John Hanlen."  His fingers touched her wrist as he reached for the robe, then moved down to wrap around her hand in a gesture of affection and gratitude.  Her long slim fingers offered no resistance as he entwined them w
ith his.  I'm a Major......" 

"A "bluecoat".  A soldier....  Ye
s."
A frown touched her brow.

"I'm a warrior, just like some of the men of your tribe must be."  He could feel the tension in her hand, that spread all through her body.  "My mission is to protect
my people. Please understand."

Skyraven saw by the look in his eyes that he was deeply troubled.  So, she was right to be cautious, she thought. "We want no war!"  She drew away slightly.  "We are peaceful.  All we want is to be able to hunt the buffalo and
to roam freely as we please."

Things were so complicated, moreso than he could explain.  He wanted to promise her that her people could live as they wanted to, but knew if he said such a thing it would be a lie
,
and so he remained silent.  Gently touching her arm  again
,
he pulled her toward him, hoping he could make her understand without saying it that  he was grateful, that he would never do anything to hurt her.  His lips brushed hers lightly.  When she did not pull away but responded by leaning closer, he captured her lips in a long
, passionate  kiss.

Sk
yraven had heard about the whiteman's "courting" gestures but had never experienced a man's kiss before.  Nothing had prepared he for the jolt of sweet fire that swept through her veins as his mouth explored hers, but she liked what he was doing.  It was a pleasant sensation.  Closing her eyes
,
she enjoyed the spark
that was kindled between them.

John Hanlen reluctantly drew away.  Was he dizzy because he was weak, or was the Indian girl's loveliness to blame?  Certainly the innocent yielding of her mouth was deeply stirring.  He wanted to deepen the embrace
,
but instead with a regretful  sigh he let his head fall b
ack upon his make-shift bed.

"Thank you for saving my life
,
Skyraven"  he whispered.

He did not want to be too hasty in his love making and frighten her away.  Perhaps it was better that he had very little strength.  Besides, she deserved better than just a rough,  tumble in the hay.  An Indian she might be
,
but no one deserved more care and attention then this  beautiful, gentle, understanding person before him. Undoubtedly there was at least one brave, or two or three  who had this young woman in mind f
or a wife, i
f she wasn't already spoken for.  Closing his eyes
,
he tried to put the thought out of his mind, for it was strangely troubling.  It was as if he wanted her to belong
to him, but that was foolish.  No, a
llowing himself to have tender feelings for h
er was  more than foolish, it was dangerous
.

Skyraven carefully  folded one of the buffalo robes and placed it under the white soldier's head.  "You must sleep now," she said, watching as he closed his eyes.  For a long moment she sat beside him,  touching her lips, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he eased into sleep.  She decided that she liked this joining of the mouths.  The white men were right to enjoy such a thing.  Though she knew she should not even think about it,  she wondered if the white man might k
iss her again.

If he does I must push him away
, Skyraven thought,  angry at herself for such musings.  She was Indian and this John Hanlen was not a proper man to share a tepee with.  Her grandfather would not approve of such a match.  He would counsel her to keep her distance from the white soldier.  In the past
,
mixed marriages had only led to trouble.  Didn't she know that by hav
ing watched her mother's pain?