Tales of Western Romance

by Baker, Madeline

  Muttering under her breath, she dumped the rest of her coffee down the sink, then quickly filled a plate with leftovers. If she wasn’t going to free the Indian, then she would have to feed him.

  * * * * *

  The scent of cooked meat roused Blue Hawk. Opening his eyes, he saw the woman was at his side again, a covered tray on the floor beside her.

  “I brought you something to eat.” She lifted the cover, revealing a plate of roast beef, mashed potatoes smothered in brown gravy, boiled carrots, and a slice of bread.

  “Are you going to untie me so I can eat it?”

  “No.”

  He glared at her. Almost, he was tempted to tell her to toss it all to the hogs, but it smelled too good, and he was too hungry to argue.

  She cut a piece of beef, speared it with a fork, and offered it to him.

  Feeling foolish, he opened his mouth.

  He refused to meet her eyes while she fed him. Did she really think he would attack her if she untied him? Even if he was so inclined, and he wasn’t, he was far too sore and too weak to do so.

  He finished every bite, drank the glass of water she offered him, and realized that he needed to relieve himself, though how he would manage that with his hands bound behind his back was beyond him. One thing was for certain, he didn’t want her help and he wasn’t going to ask for it!

  He squirmed under the blanket.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked. “Are you in pain?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Not there,” he said between clenched teeth when she started to examine his wound.

  “Where then?”

  “How about sending one of your hired hands in here?”

  “Whatever for?”

  “Because…” He swore under his breath. “Because I need to relieve myself right quick!”

  She stared at him a moment, then hurried out of the barn

  Blue Hawk grinned, pleased somehow, that he had rattled her.

  Minutes later a tall, lanky cowhand entered the stable. He quickly untied Blue Hawk’s hands and feet, then stood back, his gun drawn, and motioned for Blue Hawk to precede him.

  Wrapping the blanket around his waist, Blue Hawk left the building.

  Eyes narrowed against the sun, he walked until they were a good distance from the barn. He got his first look at the ranch while he watered one of the trees. The house was two stories high. A wide verandah spanned the front and wrapped around one side. Flowers grew in front of the porch and lined the roadway that led up to the house. Two buildings stood to the left. He figured the smaller one was the cookhouse for the hired hands and the larger one was the bunkhouse. Several corrals held livestock. Chickens scratched in the dirt near the road. A couple of hound dogs were sprawled in the shade near the porch. A cowboy was working the kinks out of a piebald horse in one of the corrals.

  Walking back toward the barn, Blue Hawk weighed the odds of making a break for it. Not good, he thought. Still, he wasn’t looking forward to being tied up again.

  As though sensing his thoughts, the cowboy poked Blue Hawk in the back with the muzzle of his pistol.

  Inside the stable, with his hands and feet bound again, Blue Hawk wondered why he hadn’t just stayed in Bear Valley where he belonged.

  Chapter 6

  I stood beside Shadow, my arms folded, my fears growing.

  “Gone?” I said. “What do you mean, he’s gone? Gone where?”

  Fox Hunter leaned heavily on a thick wooden staff. I knew from his expression I wasn’t going to like whatever he said.

  The old warrior took a deep breath. “He has traveled the road into the past.”

  I looked at Shadow, then back at Fox Hunter. “I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”

  “He came to me because he wanted to know what it was like to be a warrior.”

  “Yes, yes, I know…”

  “Hannah.” Shadow’s voice stilled my tongue. It was impolite to interrupt an elder when he was speaking.

  “I told him he could not learn the ways of a warrior on the reservation,” Fox Hunter went on. “There is only one way to learn, and that is to live among the People in the old way.”

  A bone-deep coldness seeped into me as I waited for Fox Hunter to go on. I knew, in my heart, that I didn’t want to hear any more.

  “We made a sweat,” Fox Hunter said. “I told Blue Hawk he must concentrate on the thing he desired most…”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “I felt the distance between us grow larger and larger,” the old warrior said. “For a moment, I saw an image on the lodgeskins.”

  “What kind of image?” I asked.

  “A woman’s.”

  I looked up at Shadow. “A woman? I thought he wanted to be a warrior.”

  Shadow put his arm around my shoulders. “A good warrior needs a woman.”

  I looked at Fox Hunter again. “Tell me, where is my son?”

  “He has traveled the Ghost Road into the past.”

  I stared at the old man. “Into the past? What are you saying?”

  “You know what I am saying,” the old warrior said. “Look into your heart.”

  “I don’t believe you. It’s impossible. People don’t travel back in time.” I shook my head. “Why are you telling me this nonsense? Where is Blue Hawk?”

  A horrible thought occurred to me. What if Blue Hawk was dead?

  Fox Hunter’s gaze met mine. “It is as I have said. Blue Hawk has traveled back to the time of his ancestors.”

  I looked at Shadow again. “It isn’t possible. Is it?”

  He nodded. “If one knows the way. If one believes, all things are possible.”

  “But…but how will he get back?”

  “That is up to him,” Fox Hunter said. “He knows the way. He must decide whether to travel the road back.”

  I moved out of Shadow’s arms. “Did you know about this?” I asked.

  He nodded slowly.

  “And you let him go? Shadow, how could you? What if he’s killed? What if he can’t find his way back? I’ll never forgive you if something happens to him, do you understand me? Never!”

  Not wanting to cry in front of the two warriors, I turned and ran into the house.

  Going into the bedroom, I fell face down across the bed and cried as I had not cried in years. It couldn’t be true. There was no such thing as time travel, everybody knew that.

  And yet, try as I might to deny it, I knew it was true.

  Blue Hawk no longer existed in the world as I knew it. The thought that he might be killed, that I might never see him again, cut through me like a knife. For the first time in my son’s life, he was completely on his own, without family or friends to come to his aid should he need help.

  My son, my baby, was somewhere in another time and place, and there was nothing I could do about it.

  Chapter 7

  Keeping his movements as light as possible to ease the pain in his shoulder, Blue Hawk stared up at the ceiling while he slowly worked his hands back and forth in an effort to slip free of the rope that bound his wrists. Of course, the rough hemp abrading his skin caused a whole new source of discomfort, but he did as his father had so often advised. He accepted the pain and moved on. So, where the hell was he? Fox Hunter had told him to concentrate on what he wanted most, he thought ruefully, and getting shot and being tied up in a barn wasn’t even in the top two.

  Blue Hawk frowned. If learning to be a real warrior was what he wanted most, what the devil was he doing here? And if that wasn’t what he wanted most, then what was? He glanced around, taking in his surroundings. Maybe this was where he was supposed to be.

  He shook his head, wondering where that damn fool notion had come from. And yet, he couldn’t ignore the fact that the woman who held him prisoner was the same woman whose face he had seen on the wall of the sweat lodge. He couldn’t begin to guess what that meant.

  So, here he was, in the past, he thought, and frowned, wondering how far into the past
he had gone. Judging from what he had seen and heard, he knew he had traveled back in time far enough that the Indians, or at least some of them, were still living off the reservation. What if he found his father’s people and his father was still there, living among them? Talk about an awkward situation! What would it be like to see his father as a young man?

  Shadow, once known as Two Hawks Flying, had been a formidable warrior in his youth. He had engaged in many battles against the whites. He had fought against General Crook, and against Custer and the Seventh Cavalry at the battle at the Little Big Horn. Two Hawks Flying had known many famous warriors, men like Crazy Horse and Gall and Sitting Bull. Two Hawks Flying and Hannah had even spent time with the infamous Apache leader, Geronimo. He had seen the world change, seen the Sioux and the Cheyenne driven off their hunting grounds and confined on reservations, and yet his father had never surrendered his pride or his manhood. He had held fast to the teachings and customs of the Cheyenne and now he was a man respected by all who knew him. Blue Hawk had always admired his father, and his mother, as well. Hannah Kincaid had stood beside her husband through good times and bad, had fought beside him when necessary. She was a remarkable woman and Blue Hawk had always hoped to find a woman like her, a woman filled with compassion and tenderness, a strong spirit and a fighting heart.

  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 stro
de 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.