Tales of Western Romance (27 page)

Lying there, he recalled the story of how his
parents had met. It was a story that Blue Hawk and the rest of the
family had heard so many times that they knew it by heart, a story
that his aunts, uncles, and cousins asked to hear over and over
again because it was such a remarkable tale they never tired of
hearing it.

Closing his eyes, he could hear his mother’s
voice in the back of his mind. The story always started the same
way.

I was nine years old the first time I saw
the Cheyenne warrior who would one day be known as Two Hawks
Flying. Of course, he wasn’t a warrior that day near the old river
crossing – just a boy a few years older than I. And since he had
yet to earn his proud warrior’s name, he still was called by the
name his mother had given him at birth – Shadow
.

Blue Hawk smiled faintly as he recalled the
rest of the story, how Shadow had accused Hannah of trespassing on
Indian land, how she had won his friendship by offering him some of
her mother’s oatmeal cookies, and how she had started for home,
only to be scared half to death when he had ridden up behind her.
Scooping her into his arms, he had placed her on the horse in front
of him, and given her a ride home. She had met him again the next
day and many more times after that. Their affection for one another
had grown, eventually turning into a love strong enough to survive
hardship, treachery, and separation. A love that endured to this
day.

It was, he thought, a remarkable story.
Someday, he intended to write it all down so that it wouldn’t be
lost, the way so many of the stories and legends of the People had
been lost. But for now, all he wanted to do was sleep.

* * * * *

He woke a little before dawn the following
day. The pain in his shoulder had dimmed to a dull ache. The
shallow furrow along the side of his head was still sore, but he
felt stronger than he had the day before. Sitting up, he managed to
work his hands free, though struggling against the rope cost him
some skin. Still, it was good to have his hands free again.

After untying the rope around his ankles, he
stood and padded toward the barn door, the blanket tied firmly
around his waist. If he was lucky, he could slip away,
unnoticed.

He was about to open the door when someone
from the outside pushed on it. Blue Hawk stepped back, out of
sight, thinking he might be able to slip past whoever was entering
the barn.

He had expected to see one of the cowhands.
Instead, two young warriors ghosted into the barn. A third warrior
dragged the body of one of the ranch hands inside.

An arrow protruded from the man’s chest. In
the dim light, Blue Hawk couldn’t tell if the cowboy was dead or
alive.

Blue Hawk held his breath as the warriors
moved past him, intent on the horses housed in the stable.

He waited a moment; then, certain their
attention was elsewhere, he drew the pistol from the cowhand’s
holster and thumbed back the hammer.

The three warriors spun around, their eyes
wide. Only then did Blue Hawk notice how very young they were.
Novices, all of them. He wondered if this was their first raid
without adult supervision.

“
You will not steal these horses,” Blue
Hawk said, speaking in Cheyenne. “Go home, while you
can.”

The warriors exchanged glances. Two of them
started toward the door; the third reached for the knife sheathed
on his belt.

Blue Hawk swore softly. Fox Hunter had warned
him not to take a life, not to do anything that might change the
future.

His own death would also change the future.
Muttering an oath, Blue Hawk fired at the warrior. The bullet
struck the young man in the thigh. Yelping, he dropped the
knife.

“
Leave your weapons,” Blue Hawk told
the other two, “and get him out of here, now!”

The warriors quickly did as they were
told.

Blue Hawk followed them outside.

As he’d feared, the gunshot had roused the
cowhands. Several of them came running out of the bunkhouse,
pulling on their trousers as they ran.

One of them, a big man with a shock of yellow
hair, pulled a gun and aimed it at the Indians, who were running
for their horses.

Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, Blue Hawk
darted toward the cowboy and plowed into him. The bullet went wide,
missing the mark.

A few of the other cowboys were shooting now,
but the Indians had ridden into a copse of trees and were out of
sight.

The cowboy Blue Hawk had barreled into turned
on him, his face red with fury. “You damn fool! I ought to…”

“
What’s going on here?”

Blue Hawk looked past the angry cowhand to
see the woman running toward them. She wore a long pink robe. Her
hair, worn in a long braid, swung behind her as she ran. Her feet
were bare.

“
I said, what’s going on?” she
repeated, somewhat breathlessly.

“
Some Injuns were in the barn, probably
trying to rescue this one,” the yellow-haired cowboy said. “I would
have got one of them if this one hadn’t thrown off my
aim.”

“
Jim’s been hurt bad,” one of the
cowboy’s said, coming out of the barn. “Got an arrow in his chest.”
He looked at Blue Hawk, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “I’ll
bet he was in on it. I say we string him up.”

“
Slow down, Austin,” the woman said.
“Tom, go tell Cookie to take a look at Jim.” She turned to look at
Blue Hawk. “What happened?”

“
Some young boys came into the barn
looking to steal some of your horses.”

“
Were you in on it?” she asked
suspiciously.

“
Not hardly.”

She looked pointedly at the gun in his
hand.

“
I took it off the wounded man in the
barn.”

“
So, you just let them get
away?”

“
They were just kids. What did you want
me to do? Gun ‘em down?”

“
They were going to steal my
horses!”

He nodded. “And they would have, if I hadn’t
been there.” He flinched as someone shoved the muzzle of a gun into
his back, hard.

“
Hand it over, real slow.”

Recognizing the voice as that of the man who
had shot him, Blue Hawk did as he was told. And even as he
relinquished the weapon, he quietly berated himself for being a
fool as he did so. If he’d been smart, he would have stolen one of
the horses, hightailed it after the young warriors, and followed
them back to their camp. But it was too late for that now.

“
How did you get loose?” the woman
asked. “Did those Indians help you?”

“
No, I managed that on my
own.”

“
Didn’t I tell you, Lynnie?” the man
said, coming around to stand in front of Blue Hawk. “Didn’t I tell
you bringing that redstick here was a big mistake?”

“
Yes, Jase, you told me. Now, suppose
you tie him up tight this time.”

Blue Hawk backed away as the man called Jase
strode toward him. “Dammit, woman, why don’t you just let me go? I
don’t mean you any harm.”

“
Jase, maybe he’s right, maybe we
should…”

“
I’m not letting him go. We’ve got
enough Indians prowling around. We don’t need another
one.”

Blue Hawk was considering the wisdom of
making a break for it when two of the other cowhands grabbed him
from behind. He fought against them instinctively, but he was still
weak and lacked the strength or the energy to fight them off. In
minutes, his hands were again bound behind his back. Fresh blood
spotted the bandage wrapped around his shoulder.

Lynnie’s stomach clenched when she saw the
blood. What right did she have to keep this man tied up? He’d done
nothing to her. True, he had been trespassing on her property, but
he hadn’t caused any damage. And, as she had noticed before, he
didn’t act like any Indian she had ever seen. Nor did he talk like
one. In fact, he spoke better English than most of her hired
hands.

For the first time, it occurred to her that
he might be a half-breed. “Where are you from?”

“
Bear Valley.”

“
Is that around here?”

About sixty or seventy years from here, he
thought. Aloud, he said, “No.”

“
You said you were making a sweat, as I
recall. Why were you doing it so far from home?”

“
I was visiting my father’s
people.”

“
He’s Cheyenne?”

Blue Hawk nodded.

“
And your mother?”

“
She’s white.”

Jase made a sound of impatience in his
throat. “You about done here, Lynnie?” he asked curtly. “I’ve got
work to do.”

“
Yes, I’m through,” she
said.

Blue Hawk cursed under his breath as he
watched the woman turn and walk back to the house.

The man, Jase, gave him a shove toward the
barn. Inside, Blue Hawk sat down in the empty stall he had occupied
before. He didn’t resist when Jase grabbed a length of rope and
lashed his ankles together.

“
That ought to hold you,” the man
muttered.

Closing his eyes, Blue Hawk stretched out on
the straw, willing to bide his time until his wounds healed.

* * * * *

Lynnie waited until Jase and the hands rode
out of the yard, and then she made her way back to the barn.

The Indian, Blue Hawk, appeared to be asleep.
She was about to leave when his eyes opened. He had beautiful eyes,
large and dark, fringed by thick dark lashes any woman would
envy.

He struggled to a sitting position when he
saw her.

She dropped a pair of boots, a shirt, and a
pair of brown whipcord britches on the floor. “I brought you
something to wear.”

“
Thanks.” He glanced at the trousers,
then at his bound ankles. “Might be a little hard for me to put
those on.”

Lynnie felt her cheeks grow hot under his
accusing gaze. “I’m sorry. I may have misjudged you.” Kneeling, she
pulled a knife from her belt and cut his hands and feet free.

Blue Hawk rubbed his wrists, then flexed his
shoulders. He grimaced as the movement pulled on his wound. He
reached for the pile of clothing. Lifting the blue plaid shirt, he
looked at the woman. “Your husband’s?”

“
No, I’m not married. It was my
father’s.” Standing, she backed out of the stall. “If you’ll come
up to the house after you get dressed, I’ll change that
bandage.”

Blue Hawk nodded; then, teeth clenched, he
braced one hand against the wall and gained his feet.

“
Do you need any help?” Lynnie
asked.

He shook his head.

She regarded him a moment more, then turned
and left the barn. Jase had said letting the Indian live was a big
mistake. She wondered if she had just made a bigger one.

It took Blue Hawk close to ten minutes to get
dressed. He found a pair of wool socks tucked into the boots but
bending over to pull them on was too painful, and sitting down to
pull them on, then struggling to stand again was just too much
trouble.

Barefooted, he left the barn and walked up to
the big white house with the dark blue shutters.

Climbing the three front steps made his head
throb. He was breathless by the time he knocked on the door.

The woman, Lynnie, opened the door a few
moments later. “Come in.” She stepped back, allowing him
entrance.

The parlor was large and square. The
furniture was heavy, made of dark wood covered in a dark print. A
rack of antlers hung over the stone fireplace; a framed photograph
of a tall, dark-haired man and a pretty woman wearing a sunbonnet
occupied the mantel, along with a trio of silver candlesticks, and
a couple of glass figurines. Several colorful rag rugs covered the
hard wood floor.

Blue Hawk followed the woman into the
kitchen. She pulled a ladder-back chair out from a large round
table. “Sit down. You’ll have to take your shirt off.”

He did as he was told. Closing his eyes, he
heard the woman moving around in the kitchen, filling a pot with
water, opening and closing a drawer. His mind was drifting toward
home when she started to remove the bandage from his shoulder. He
opened his eyes, wincing when the cloth stuck to the wound.

Murmuring, “Sorry,” she soaked a rag in a
bowl of water and placed it over the bandage to loosen it. When her
gaze met his, she looked quickly away.

He held his breath when she reached for the
end of the bandage again. It came away easily this time.

She leaned forward a little, her fingers
gently exploring the wound. “It seems to be healing just fine.”

Blue Hawk grunted softly. It might be healing
but it still hurt like the devil. Shadow had told him tales of men
who had dug bullets or arrows out of their own flesh, then
cauterized the wounds with a hot knife. Blue Hawk wasn’t sure he
had the sand to endure anything like that.

The woman smeared some soothing liniment over
the wound, covered it with a pad made out of a square of soft
cloth, then tied it in place with another strip of cloth.

“
You’re lucky the bullet went clean
through,” she remarked. After removing the bandage from his head,
she washed the shallow wound, dabbed some liniment on it, then
said, “You’re a fast healer. I don’t think we need to rebandage
that.”

When she was done, she helped him into his
shirt.

“
I’m obliged for your help,” Blue Hawk
said.

“
No need to be. If it wasn’t for Jase,
this wouldn’t have happened.” She paused a moment, then said,
“You’re welcome to stay here until you feel well enough to move
on.”