Tales of Western Romance (30 page)

He couldn’t shoot them all. Even if he
managed to kill a few, the gunshots would quickly rouse the others.
In the confusion that was sure to follow, there was no guarantee
that Lynnie wouldn’t become a casualty, and that was a risk he
wasn’t willing to take.

Cussing under his breath, he returned to
where he had left the palomino. Maybe he would have better luck
tomorrow.

* * * * *

Lynnie woke with a groan, her body stiff and
aching from spending the night on the ground. She had hoped what
happened yesterday had been a nightmare, but the reality of the
situation hit home as soon as she opened her eyes and saw one of
the Indians hunkered down beside her. He handed her a strip of beef
jerky and a waterskin – the Indian version of breakfast, she
surmised. Minutes later, he tossed her onto the back of a horse and
they were riding east, toward the mountains.

By late afternoon, Lynnie wondered if they
were ever going to stop. She had been raised on a ranch; she was
used to spending long hours in the saddle, but not like this –
walk, trot, gallop, mile after endless mile – stopping only for
brief periods to rest and water the horses.

Her stomach was growling, her back,
shoulders, and thighs burning, her head aching, when the Indians
rode through a narrow defile that opened onto a flat, grassy plain
bisected by a narrow, winding river. Dozens of tipis were spread
out along the riverbank; a horse herd grazed on the far side of the
river.

The Indians split up, half of them
dismounting, the other half driving the stolen horses across the
river to join the herd. Camp dogs barked at the horse’s heels.

Several women and children ran forward to
meet the warriors who had dismounted, their faces wreathed in
smiles as they welcomed their husbands and fathers home.

Lynnie sat her horse, her gaze moving over
the people, the tipis, the buffalo hides stretched on the ground,
the long strips of what she thought was venison drying on wooden
racks. So many people. A group of men sat in the shade playing some
sort of game with sticks. Children ran to and fro, laughing and
shouting as they chased each other along the riverbank. Women were
tanning hides, nursing babies, stirring pots that hung from
tripods.

No one paid her any attention while she
watched and listened, until the warrior who had captured her took
hold of her arm, pulled her off her horse, and thrust her into a
nearby tipi.

Lynnie stumbled inside, almost stepping on
the woman who lay on a pile of furs near the back of the tipi.

The warrior followed Lynnie inside. He spoke
to the Indian woman, then turned to face Lynnie. “This is my woman,
Red Bird. Her leg is broken. You will take care of her.”

And with that declaration, the warrior left
the tipi.

Lynnie stared at Red Bird.

Red Bird stared back at her, her black eyes
narrowed with suspicion and distrust.

Lynnie shook her head. It was easy to see
that the woman didn’t want her there, but that was okay, Lynnie
thought. She didn’t want to be there, either.

* * * * *

Riding a safe distance behind the Cheyenne,
Blue Hawk reined the palomino to a halt when they seemed to
disappear into a slab of red rock. He sat there a moment, debating
his next move, but there was really only one thing to do. His
father had often told him that the Cheyenne hated a coward and
respected those with courage.

Hoping it was true, he touched his heels to
the palomino’s flanks and rode forward. The wide swath left by the
stolen herd led to a narrow opening in the rock. He had seen such
places before, narrow gateways that were almost invisible even when
you were right on top of them.

He was aware of being watched as he urged the
palomino forward. Gradually, the defile grew wider, opening into a
shallow valley surrounded by towering granite cliffs.

For a moment, he could only stare at the
scene before him as the old way his father had so often told him
about came to vivid life before him: the horse herd grazing beside
the river; the lodges, their tops smoke-blackened, looking like
upside-down ice cream cones; the buffalo hides pegged out on the
ground; the smell of smoke and sage and roasting meat. The warriors
– young bucks swaggering through the camp. Seasoned warriors
repairing their weapons. Old men dozing in the shade. There were
women gathering wood, tending their children, preparing food. He
saw it all in a single glance before a dozen armed warriors
surrounded him.

“
Who are you?” one of them asked,
speaking broken English. He was tall, as were most Cheyenne, his
skin the color of old copper, his long black hair liberally
sprinkled with gray.

“
Daniel Blue Hawk,” he replied, in
Cheyenne.

Surprise flickered in the warrior’s eyes.
“You speak our language?”

Blue Hawk nodded. “I am Cheyenne.”

“
Why are you here?”

“
Your warriors have stolen my woman.
And my horses.”

The warriors conversed amongst themselves,
then one of them gestured at a warrior with a long white scar
across his cheek. “Ese’henahkohe has your woman in his lodge.”

Blue Hawk nodded. “And I see my horses across
the river.”

Gray Hair smiled. “We did not know we were
stealing from one of the People. Ese’henahkohe will return your
woman to you.”

“
And will he also return my horses?”
Blue Hawk asked, dismounting.

Gray Hair pursed his lips, then shook his
head. “That is a decision for Ese’henahkohe to make.”

Blue Hawk nodded. Stealing horses from the
enemy had been a way of life for the Indians in the old days.
Hopefully, Ese’henahkohe wouldn’t view him as an enemy.

Gray Hair clapped Blue Hawk on the arm.
“Come, eat.”

“
My woman?” Blue Hawk reminded
him.

“
Ese’henahkohe will bring her to you.
Come.”

Blue Hawk followed Gray Hair. The warrior’s
lodge was large. And familiar. Shadow had one similar to it set up
under a tall tree behind their house in Bear Valley. As a boy, Blue
Hawk had liked to sleep out there in the summer with his older
brothers and sister.

Gray Hair gestured for Blue Hawk to sit on
one of the robes to the left of the fire pit. As he did so, Blue
Hawk noticed the cook pots and waterskins located on one side of
the doorway.

A pretty woman smiled at Blue Hawk as she
handed him a wooden bowl and spoon.

He nodded his thanks as he accepted the bowl.
The stew was good – venison flavored with sage and onions unless he
was mistaken. Gray Hair took a seat across from Blue Hawk and the
two men ate in silence.

Blue Hawk felt a wave of excitement as he sat
there, in the heart of a Cheyenne encampment. This was what he had
always wanted, to shed the veneer of civilization and live in the
old way. The myriad scents of the village surrounded him – the rich
aroma wafting from the bowl in his hands, the acrid smell of smoke,
the pungent scent of pine and bear grease, of earth untouched by
the plow, of air unpolluted by the fumes of oil and gasoline.

Gray Hair set his bowl aside and reached for
his pipe. He plucked a stick from the fire and touched it to the
bowl of the pipe. A curl of gray smoke rose from the pipe.

From his father, Blue Hawk had learned that
the first smoke went to
Heammawihio
, the Wise One above, who
was the Supreme Being, the creator of all life. His name was the
first invoked in prayer; the first smoke was offered to Him. The
second smoke went to the god of the Underworld,
Ahk tun
o’wihio
. Both
Heammawihio
and
Ahk tun o’wihio
were benevolent beings. There were gods of the Four Directions as
well. To honor these Powers, the stem of the pipe was pointed
upward first, then down to the earth, and then to the Four
Directions, starting in the east.

When that was done, Gray Hair offered the
pipe to Blue Hawk, who took several puffs, then returned the pipe
to Gray Hair. The warrior puffed on it twice, then put it
aside.

“
Will you stay the night?” the warrior
asked.

“
If it is no trouble.”

“
My brother has taken his family to
visit his wife’s cousin. You may stay in their lodge.”

“
Thank you.”

Gray Hair rose and Blue Hawk did
likewise.

When he stepped out of the lodge, Blue Hawk
saw a tall, young warrior striding toward him. Lynnie trailed close
behind. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes red, as if she’d been
crying.

A smile of relief lit her face when she saw
him. “Daniel!”

Hurrying toward her, he gathered her into his
arms, felt her stiffen at his intimate embrace.

Bending down, he whispered, “I told the
Cheyenne that you’re my woman. We’ll be spending the night here, in
the same lodge. Do you understand?”

She nodded.

“
Good.” Releasing her, he turned to
look at Gray Hair. “This is my woman, Lynette.”

Gray Hair nodded solemnly. “This is
Ese’henahkohe,” he said, gesturing at the young warrior. “I am
Ho’neeho’esta.”

“
Pleased to meet you,” Lynnie said,
speaking to the older man.

Ho’neeho’esta spoke to Ese’henahkohe in rapid
Cheyenne. From the expression on the younger man’s face, he wasn’t
happy with what was being said. His reply was curt, then he turned
on his heel and strode back to his lodge, anger evident in every
line.

Lynnie looked up at Daniel. “What was that
all about?”

“
Ho’neeho’esta asked Ese’henahkohe if
he would return your horses – he thinks they’re mine. He said he
had stolen them honorably and they belong to him. Ho’neeho’esta
reminded Ese’henahkohe that stealing from another Cheyenne was not
the same as stealing from an enemy.”

“
How can stealing be honorable?” Lynnie
exclaimed.

“
It was…it is a way of life for the
Cheyenne. For all the Plains tribes.”

“
So, what’s he going to do?”

“
He agreed to return them.”

“
Not very willingly, judging by the
look on his face.”

“
No,” Blue Hawk said. “He’s not happy
about it at all.”

Taking her by the hand. Blue Hawk followed
Ho’neeho’esta to a lodge a short distance away.

“
I will see that food is provided for
you,” Ho’neeho’esta said.

“
Thank you.”

“
And I will tell my warriors that you
and your woman are here as my guests.”

Blue Hawk nodded. “Lynnie, would you go
inside, please? I want to speak with Ho’neeho’esta for a
minute.”

She looked at him askance, then ducked into
the lodge.

Ho’neeho’esta looked at Blue Hawk
curiously.

“
I have a favor to ask,” Blue Hawk
explained. “I would like to stay here for a few days, if that is
all right.”

“
If you wish,” Ho’neeho’esta
said.

“
That’s great.” Grinning, Blue Hawk
shook the warrior’s hand. “Just great.”

Startled by Blue Hawk’s exuberance,
Ho’neeho’esta lifted one brow.

“
I…that is, I’ve been away for a long
time,” Blue Hawk said. “I’m glad to be with my people.”

“
Stay as long as you wish,”
Ho’neeho’esta said.

Blue Hawk watched the warrior return to his
own lodge; then, taking a deep breath, he went into the tipi to
tell Lynnie that they’d be staying for a while.

Lynnie stared at him, her eyes wide. “Are you
out of your mind? I don’t want to stay here! I want to go home.
Now!”

“
I know, just calm down.”

“
I am calm!”

“
Yeah, right,” Blue Hawk muttered.
“Just listen a minute, will you?”

She folded her arms across her breasts, her
expression mutinous. “I’m listening.”

He made a gesture that encompassed the lodge
and, by extension, the camp beyond. “This is the reason I wanted to
come to the past, what I prayed for. I wanted to experience what
life was like when my people lived the way
Heammawihio
intended. Can you understand that?”

“
No. Yes. I don’t know.” She tilted her
head to the side. “Were you so unhappy where you came
from?”

“
Unhappy?” He shook his head. “No. But
I had grown up on stories of what it was like in the old days. The
Shining Times, my father called them, before our people were locked
up on reservations.”

She looked up at him, her eyes wide. “Is that
what happens to your people in the future?”

He nodded. “There’s going to be several
battles between now and then. The beginning of the end comes when
the whites discover gold in the Black Hills. The Indians hold that
land sacred, believing all life started there. There will be many
battles over the land after gold is discovered. One of the deciding
battles will come in 1876. They called it the Battle of the Little
Big Horn. Our people will win that fight, but it will be the
beginning of the end of life as they knew it.” He grunted softly.
“The old ones say that the Sioux got the glory, the Crow got the
land, but the Cheyenne did the fighting.”

“
I’m sorry.” She sank down on a pile of
furs. “We’ve always gotten along with the Indians, until now. Oh,
they’ve stolen a few horses now and then, sometimes a few cattle…”
She blew out a sigh. “You’ll take me home in a few days?
Promise?”

“
I promise.”

“
And then you’ll come back here, won’t
you?”

“
Maybe. If they’ll have me.”

She nodded, her gaze sliding away from
his.