As she rode, she wondered if Johnny Ace was even now coming after her, riding in a fast fury because she had stolen his favorite horse? If so, he didn’t have much of a chance of catching her; not with the way Katis traveled. But he was a skilled tracker and relentless. He’d keep looking. She imagined him overtaking her, dragging her off the horse.
Big, stupid Pawnee. She could almost feel his wide, hot hands on her back as he jerked her to him, taste the heat of his mouth. She must stop remembering that, she chided herself as she walked the horse again to cool it.
She tried to think instead of how happy she would be among the Cheyenne. Tall Bull’s wife would teach Luci the Cheyenne customs, aid her with her faltering grasp of the language, and help her choose a virile warrior as a husband. But when she tried to imagine going to the marriage blankets in the darkness by a small fire, she saw her enemy’s dark, brooding face.
Luci rode through the night, trying to put distance between herself and the fort. By dawn, Johnny Ace would come looking for her and he was by reputation the best of the Pawnee wolves for the blue soldiers. Every bent blade of grass would be a map to him so that he could track her. But maybe she would be lucky and find a big camp of Cheyenne first. Even if it was not the Dog Soldier band, they would help her find her uncle.
She smiled to herself, thinking what an amusing story this would make. The Cheyenne liked to tell stories around the campfires at night, and to that tribe, a tale was a possession like a pony or blanket. No one but the owner could tell it without the owner’s permission. She imagined how, generations from now, her children would still be telling the tale of how their mother outsmarted a Pawnee scout and stole his favorite horse in a way that the best Cheyenne warrior would envy.
Somewhere on the lonely prairie, a coyote howled and she shivered, wishing she had a weapon. Of course, coyotes were timid. But what if she should run across a big lobo wolf who saw her horse as dinner? Luci thought about it, then decided Katis could defend himself.
It couldn’t be long until dawn, she thought with a sigh of relief. The prairie seemed so desolate and so empty. She could disappear out here, get lost, and die. It happened now and then to settlers. For the barest second, she thought about turning around and riding bark to the safety of the fort. But when she thought about facing that scout and the sneering Winnifred Starrett, Luci gave up that idea. No, she would find the Dog Soldiers and learn to be a real Cheyenne.
The wind picked up and she detected just the slightest scent of smoke. Perhaps she had only imagined it. The image came to her suddenly of a roaring prairie fire. When lightning or a smoldering campfire started such a blaze, it could roar for weeks across many miles of dry grass, consuming everything before it. Whites and Indians alike feared being trapped in such an inferno. Many was the story she’d heard of men galloping ahead of such a racing wall of fire until their horse stumbled, went down, and the scarlet flames swept over them.
The sky turned that pale lavender gray that comes just before dawn, diluted with faded pink streaks. Up ahead, she saw straggly trees which could only mean a creek in this arid country. It would be a good place to rest a minute and refill her canteen. Katis needed water. Besides, if there were a prairie fire, people had been known to survive by leading their horse out into a creek and staying there until the danger had passed.
She smelled the scent of smoke again as she rode closer. What if she stumbled on a cavalry patrol? Luci shook her head. With all this snow melting off, she didn’t think there were any out right now.
Maybe it was a Cheyenne camp. Her heart beat a little faster with relief. Even if it was an Arapahoe or a Sioux hunting party, those tribes were friends of the Cheyenne and would help her.
She was close enough now to see the tiny flicker of a campfire. A pony raised its head and whinnied at the scent of Katis. Luci was hungry. She hoped there’d be some food and coffee. She could make out the barest silhouette of shapes in the shadows of the trees around the fire.
A guard called out to her but she didn’t understand what he said. She spoke English and a little Cheyenne. What was it he said?
She tried to form an answer in Cheyenne but gave up in disgust. He challenged her again. She’d better ride in close enough for him to see she was no Pawnee or soldier. He might fire on her before he realized it was only a girl on a very tired horse.
“It’s all right,” she called back in English, trying desperately to think of the Cheyenne words for “I’m a friend!”
She rode in closer to the clearing by the campfire, heaving a sigh of relief that she was finally safe and there’d be food and help. Yes, she was safe! She was . . .
The brave walked toward her, talking in a jumble of English and words she didn’t understand. White man’s Indian. That’s all she was after all.
At the noise, other braves begin to rise up out of their blankets around the fire.
It was still too dark to make out the figures silhouetted against the cerise of the coming dawn on the far horizon. She shouted out to him in Cheyenne that she was a friend and that she’d come a long way. A prickle of fear raced down her back. There was something very wrong. She began to turn Katis.
The warrior paused, staring back at her. The hair. Why hadn’t she noticed the hair? The traditional roached hair down the middle of the head.
Oh, mercy! With a gasp of terror, she turned Katis and made for the open prairie. Why had she been so stupid as to ride in without investigating? The hair style had revealed that she had inadvertently found deadly enemies.
Luci had stumbled onto a camp of Pawnee warriors!
Chapter Five
Crow Feather stared into the small fire and looked toward the eastern horizon. It was not quite dawn on this vast sea of grass that the white men now called “Nebraska.” He looked behind him at the sentry, around at his warriors, many still asleep in their blankets.
Charish joined him and squatted by the fire. “Wa-ti-hes ti-kot-it ti-ra-hah.”
Crow Feather did not think they would find buffalo tomorrow as the younger man said, but he only nodded. “Tu-ra-heh. It is good.”
He stared into the fire, thinking. No, they would find no buffalo tomorrow or the day after. Already the Pawnee hunting party had ventured too far west of their village. The farther west they went, the more danger of encountering a war party of Cheyenne Dog Soldiers. “We have not many warriors in our party. Perhaps we should turn back.”
Charish frowned. “Our best young men no longer behave as Pawnee warriors. They ride for the bluecoated soldiers!”
“True.” Crow Feather sighed. “But only the presence of the soldiers keeps the Cheyenne and the Sioux from overrunning and destroying our people. The enemy are many, the Pawnee are few.”
“You defend the scouts because one of them will be your son-in-law if your daughter has her way.”
“That is not yet decided.” Crow Feather regarded the scowling, younger man. His name meant “angry” and it suited him. Still Charish was the chief’s wife’s nephew which meant someday Charish might be Lesharo, chief of the Skidi Pawnee. He would rather his daughter marry this handsome, but sour young man. His spoiled and willful daughter, Ore-ka-raha, preferred Asataka, whom soldiers called Johnny Ace.
“Isn’t it decided? You have eyes for that great black stallion Asataka rides. You hope he will give it as a bride-price.”
“I want that stallion, yes,” Crow Feather snapped, “but if the truth were told, I would prefer a more traditional son-in-law, one who keeps to the old ways. The one called Johnny Ace comes seldom to our village and acts more white than Pawnee.”
Charish poked up the fire. “When I am finally chief, I will lead our people back to the old ways, the old customs.”
Crow Feather shook his head. “I think there is no going back. Whatever future there is for the Pawnee must be ahead of us, not behind us.”
“What future?” the dour man scoffed. “We are about to be engulfed by a horde of Sioux and Cheyenne. And if that were n
ot enough, already the white farmers look hungrily at our land and talk of exiling us to the Indian Territory.”
He was right, of course. This dawn, Crow Feather felt much older than his forty some winters. Gray peppered the ebony roach of hair that had once been as glossy black as his namesake. Pawnee. It meant “horned hair,” an apt description of the hairstyle. “We will go back home this dawn,” he decided aloud.
Charish cursed. “We are shamed to return to our village with only a few deer and rabbits. Perhaps Ti-ra’-wa frowns on us because we have abandoned the old ways.”
Crow Feather stood up, grudgingly thinking the same. “Possibly you are right. Maybe God does frown on the Pawnee now for turning their back on their traditions.”
Around him, warriors were coming out of their blankets in the first gray light of dawn. The sentry yelled suddenly, “I see someone in the distance!”
Crow Feather reached for his weapons, his heart pounding. “What is it you see?”
The man craned his neck. “Only one rider, so far. With so little light, I cannot be sure!”
Charish reached for his bridle. “Teradeda?”
“The rider is still too far away to recognize whether he is an enemy.”
“It would be better to take back an enemy scalp than to return to our village empty-handed,” Crow Feather thought aloud.
The sentry yelled. “He rides a fine black horse.”
Crow Feather relaxed and sighed. The biggest, blackest horse in this whole area was well known to all. “What would Asataka be doing coming here?”
Charish scowled jealously. “Perhaps he comes to offer the horse and ride back with us to claim your daughter.”
“He has no way of knowing where to find us on this hunt,” Crow Feather said. “Besides, he would come to the village if he has finally decided to offer for Ore-ka-raha.” He smiled in spite of himself. Ore-ka-raha. It meant “Deer” and was a good name for his pretty, graceful daughter. She was his only child and he spoiled her. That was why he was considering giving his grudging approval if Johnny Ace finally asked for her in marriage.
The pink twinge of dawn touched the sky as they watched the rider come closer to the grove of trees. A voice called out, a woman’s voice? A boy’s voice? All looked at each other in surprise.
Charish said, “Is that not Asataka’s horse? Who rides it and calls out in an unknown tongue?”
A prickle of fear and surprise went down Crow Feather’s back. The words were Cheyenne. “Teradeda! Enemies!” He gasped, “Who is this riding toward us?”
As they scrambled for weapons, the sentry questioned the rider again in the ghostly gray dawn. Crow Feather watched the rider hesitate, turn the big horse uncertainly. He saw only a slight form in the dim light. Perhaps it was a Cheyenne scout.
Crow Feather yelled a warning, sending men racing for their ponies. “Suks-e-kitta-wit-wis-kuts! Get on your horses quickly! Teradeda! Enemies!”
The slight rider turned the ebony horse at the shouts, and galloped off across the prairie.
Charish ran for his pinto. “We will catch this Cheyenne! We will take this boy back to our camp to torture for the amusement of our people!”
Crow Feather unhobbled his bay gelding, his heart singing. Yes, they would take this captive boy back to their village. They would not have to return empty-handed and shamed. Perhaps Charish was right–their people needed to return to the old ways, to the old traditions.
Around him, warriors grabbed for weapons and unhobbled ponies. Already the great black horse was galloping away. But the dawn broke now over the hills, all pale and new, lighting the prairie beyond the straggly line of cottonwoods. He swung up on his own mount and waved his men forward. “Let us catch this enemy!”
The warriors needed no urging. With shrieks and cries of gladness, they thundered away, taking up the chase.
Crow Feather’s heart sang with the old excitement as the cool dawn wind blew in his face. Once again he was a young brave on his first war party. No longer was his scalp lock graying, his bones aching in the early morning chill. One more time he galloped after an enemy as he hadn’t done in many years since he had ridden with Asataka’s father, Kiri-kuruks, Bear’s Eyes.
Ahead of them on the flat muddy prairie, the great black horse thundered away. Here and there, melting patches of snow looked like cream on the black gumbo of the land. It was good to be alive and riding after an enemy. Tonight, this Cheyenne’s scalp would hang in Crow’s earthen lodge. There would be dancing and singing, and never mind that the food would be army rations furnished by the young men who rode for the soldiers.
Charish galloped at his side, waving his rifle. “I think I can bring the boy down from here!”
“No!” Crow Feather gestured in protest. “Let us capture this enemy alive so we can take him back to camp!”
“He might get away! He rides a fine horse!”
But Crow Feather shook his head. The magnificent animal was lathered and tiring–anyone could see that. No, it had already been ridden many miles. Otherwise, they would have no chance of catching it.
The breeze came up and Crow Feather took a deep breath of dawn air as he raced along. Maybe there was hope; maybe the old ways could be recaptured after all. When Charish helped bring in this enemy, maybe Deer might look on him with different eyes, and forget about that white man in a brown skin who rode for the cavalry. And if Crow Feather captured this fine black horse, he wouldn’t need the one Johnny Ace owned.
He signaled his men to fan out, slowly surrounding the weary, galloping horse. Aiee! It was a magnificent animal, fleet as the wind. But it was still running strongly while the smaller ponies were beginning to fall behind. He could smell the foaming sweat of his own bay, feel it wet and hot between his thighs. Would this enemy and his valiant horse escape them yet?
The sun came up finally, bathing the scene with golden light and casting shadows across the prairie. His heart thundered in time to the pounding hooves. The blood sang in his veins like the cries and war songs of the braves who rode with him.
Then the great black horse stumbled and fell. Perhaps it had stepped in a gopher hole, its slight rider thrown to the ground. Suppose it broke its leg? But even as that thought came to Crow Feather, the horse got to its feet and stood wearily, his head hanging. The rider scrambled up off the muddy ground and tried to remount, but it was too late. They had him! They had him!
With glad cries of victory, Crow Feather’s braves surrounded the horse and rider.
“A girl!” Charish spat dourly. “Why, all we have captured is a mere girl!”
Crow Feather’s heart fell. Yes, it was only a girl, even though her stance told him she would give them a fight. “But she’s Cheyenne and we still have the fine horse!”
They surrounded the spirited female, who backed against the big black animal, crouched for a fight.
One of the other warriors shook his head and spoke in Pawnee. “Do you not recognize this stallion, Crow Feather? Could there be more than one like it in the whole world?”
It was true enough. With a sigh, he slid from his lathered bay, and stared at the black mount and the girl who glared back at him defiantly. It could be no other than Johnny Ace’s Katis.
In English, he said to her, “How came you by this horse?”
“I–I bought it!”
Charish approached her, struck her across the face. “You lie, Cheyenne bitch! We know this stallion! How came you by it?”
“It was given to me!” She glared back at the warrior, her pale eyes flashing although scarlet blood ran down her mouth.
Crow Feather confronted her. He spoke a few words of the enemy Cheyenne language. “Asataka would never sell or give away this horse, perhaps not even as a bride-price! No doubt he is not far behind this horse thief!”
The girl looked as if she did not understand everything he said in her tongue.
“She doesn’t understand! She’s not even Cheyenne,” Charish sneered. “Look at the pale eyes! She�
�s a fort Indian, a half-breed!”
“Dirty Pawnee!” she shouted in English, blood running from her mouth. “Killer and rapist of women and children!”
“Do not compare us with your outlaw Dog Soldiers!” Crow Feather retorted, losing his temper. He had hoped for a fine captive and the ownership of a good stallion. Instead he had a mere slip of a fort half-breed and Asataka’s horse, which would have to be returned to him.
“A Cheyenne girl is better at stealing horses than any Pawnee,” she sneered.
The girl had spirit, Crow thought, and she was pretty.
Charish said, “What shall we do with this enemy bitch? I’d like her scalp for my lodge.” He spoke Pawnee, but when he put his hand on the hilt of his knife, the girl tensed as if she understood.
One of the others laughed and wondered what she would be like flat on her back, pleasing the warriors.
The girl must have guessed his words from his tone. She tried to dodge past Charish, but he grabbed her and held her while she screamed and bit and fought. He pulled her to him, laughing at her feeble attempts to protect herself while he ran his hands over her small body.
“Enough!” Crow Feather commanded. “I am still leader here! Taking a prisoner back to camp is better than returning almost empty-handed. Tie her on the horse and let us ride out.”
But the girl fought as Charish tied her hands behind her, threw her and across Katis’s saddle. “You filthy Pawnee make war on women!”
“It is Ta Ton Ka Haska and his Dog Soldiers who make war on women. They have raped enough of ours on their raids.”
The girl looked at him, startled, and Crow Feather wondered what she knew of Tall Bull.
“Let us ride out,” he gestured. “We are too far to the west and we gamble our lives that we will not cross the trail of the enemy.”
One of the warriors took the reins of the exhausted Katis and led him along gently as they turned back east at a walk. Crow Feather rode in the lead with Charish. “When we get back to the village, we will have to send a message to Asataka that we have found his horse.”
Cheyenne Caress Page 8
