Only one move had been necessary. White Buffalo’s visions had indicated that a change to an area two sleeps to the east would bring better hunting and it had been accomplished.
Coyote’s heart was heavy over the necessity to deceive his son-in-law. They had shared thoughts since they first learned to communicate. The paunchy little man had come to respect and love the outsider, now a member of Coyote’s own family. For these very reasons, it was necessary to take precautions to see that he was not lost. Neither the family of Heads Off, now including two sons, nor the People as a whole, could afford to be without his leadership. It was with regret, then, that Coyote was willing to compromise his usual integrity for the greater cause.
“Is anything more known of their purpose?” he now asked Standing Bird.
The young warrior shook his head.
“Among the Growers, they seek a hair-face and ask if a certain one has been seen. Who knows what they say to Head Splitters?”
Coyote chuckled the little high-pitched laugh that had long ago earned him his name. It was reminiscent of that animal’s night cry on the hills behind the camp.
“Aiee! Would they ask Head Splitters of Hair-faces?”
The others laughed softly. Since the time of the Great Battle, when Heads Off had defeated Gray Wolf, the Head Splitters had considered him the cause of all their troubles. It was said that there were many warriors among that tribe who would gladly die at any time if they could take the hated Heads Off with them. Among the Head Splitters, he was known as Hair Face, which struck Coyote as a delightful little joke. The party of outsiders would be asking the Head Splitters about their worst enemy, by name, but without knowing it. Coyote wished he could be there to observe the looks on their faces.
This could be a very good thing. If the Head Splitters overreacted to being asked about Hair Face by Hair-faces, the two groups might easily come to battle. How fortunate, if this new threat to the People were to be wiped out by the worst enemy of the People.
Of course, there was risk involved. It could happen that the two enemies of the People would strike an agreement. The Head Splitters might tell the newcomers where the hair-face was to be found, hoping that they would take him away with them. Aiee, it became confusing. They must especially watch the actions of the invading party now.
The conspirators separated, re-entering the camp from different directions. Heads Off, half asleep, happened to glance past the door flap to see his wife’s parents slip back to their lodge. He smiled to himself. An incurable romantic, that Coyote. They had probably slipped off for an interlude away from the children in their lodge.
Heads Off rolled over in the sleeping robes and cuddled against the warm body of Tall One. Their own children were too small to become that sort of problem yet. He would worry about that later. For now, he considered that his was an almost ideal existence. A loving wife, fat children, plenty to eat, good horses, and loyal followers. There was little now to remind Heads Off, chief of the Elk-dog band of the People, that he had once been a young Spanish officer named Juan Garcia.
13
Cabeza lay in his blankets, a little apart from the others. He was concerned about the manner in which this meeting with the Head Splitters was proceeding.
These people were exceedingly friendly. Many gifts had been exchanged, much feasting had taken place. Their hosts were professing friendship forever and Lizard had become tired from translating endless complimentary speeches.
Cabeza had needed time to think and had retired from the group at the council fire. He was concerned that there had been very little said about the hair-face they sought. Direct questions brought only vague reassurances and reaffirmations of the promise to help.
He could not forget that, according to the Growers, these Head Splitters were the tribe who had most cause to hate the hair-face. Rumor suggested that he might be in this general area. Why, then, did their hosts seem to avoid the subject?
He had approached Sanchez with the question, only to have it shrugged off.
“What do we care of their local politics? Relax, Cabeza! Look how toothsome some of these wenches are!” Sanchez leered at a couple of dark-eyed maidens who happened to pass.
The lieutenant was not satisfied, but did not know where else to turn. Don Pedro was so starry-eyed at the prospects ahead that he would ignore all reason. Cabeza took the precaution of a quiet warning to each of his lancers to remain on the alert and then excused himself to his bed.
Sleep would not come. He tossed and turned, hearing the sounds of the dance drums and the singing from near the council fire. He was painfully aware that no plans had been made for departure or travel on the following day.
He heard a sound and turned his head quickly to see two figures approaching softly. In the moonlight, he saw that one was a native warrior. The other appeared to be a woman. The man shoved her roughly forward, turned abruptly, and walked away.
The girl regained her composure, came a step closer, and stood stiffly, almost at attention. Cabeza rose to an elbow, watched her a moment. She did not move. He raised a hand in question, the all-inclusive query in sign talk.
“What?”
The slender girl seemed surprised for a moment to be addressed in the sign language by a foreigner. Then she quickly rallied and answered in a flurry of hand signs.
“I have been given to you for the night. In the morning, I return to Lean Bull.”
Cabeza’s first thought was, what fantastic luck! He had seen the girl near the fire and had marveled at her grace and beauty. He tried to tell himself that it was only because he had been on the prairie so long. Finally, as she had walked past in the combined flickering glow of the fire with silvery moonlight, he had had to admit the truth. This was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. She carried herself like royalty.
She was tall and straight, her shapely form filling the buckskin dress to perfection. Slim ankles rose to shapely calves which disappeared in the buckskin fringe of her skirt at knee level.
He realized that he was staring. He sat up and motioned her to him. Perhaps, he thought, he should make an effort at conversation.
“Is this the custom of your people?” he signed.
To his amazement, she drew herself up proudly, almost defiantly. The large dark eyes flashed fire.
“These are not my people! I am a prisoner! My people know how to treat women.”
She came to him and sat, but there was still the haughty pride, the unyielding defiance that reminded him of the look in the eye of a captured falcon. Caught, imprisoned, it said, but not defeated.
Cabeza began to feel twinges of remorse. He had no aversion to a bed partner. A moment ago, he would have been ready for a quick romp in the blankets, a release of tension, and a good night’s sleep. After all, he would never see her again.
Now the situation was different. He had never taken a woman against her will. How could he now, knowing that this was a prisoner? Especially a prisoner who seemed every beautiful inch a princess?
Damn, he told himself. I’ve spoiled it. Why did I try to make talk? Above all, he was now suddenly feeling concern for the welfare of this girl. As if he did not have enough worries already! Mentally, he kicked himself again and turned to the girl with resignation. Maybe he could get some information through the sign talk.
“How are you called?”
“I am South Wind.” She looked puzzled and still defiant. “Why?”
Her signed question made no specific query and Cabeza took it for one about himself. He pointed to his chest.
“Ramon.”
There was no way to put his name into sign talk.
The girl was still puzzled. Cabeza had not touched her yet, though they sat side by side. She gestured again.
“I do not understand. Do you not want me?”
He smiled and shook his head.
“Not this way. It is not good unless you want, also.”
The girl threw back her head and laughed out loud,
lovely lilting laughter like water over white pebbles.
“I thought you would be cruel!”
Cabeza glared ferociously at her and both laughed.
“Tell me of your people,” he signed.
“We call ourselves ‘the People.’ Some call us Elk-dog People since we got the elk-dogs. These,” she motioned in contempt, “are our enemies. They steal our children, sometimes our women. Ours are prettier than theirs.”
Cabeza could well believe this latter statement. It was not a boast, merely a fact, and before him was the proof.
“How did you come here?”
“I was stupid. I went too far from the camp, picking berries. A Head Splitter caught me. I will escape someday.”
From what he already knew of this remarkable young woman, he was certain that the Head Splitters could count on it.
“Tell me, South Wind. Do the Head Splitters tell my people truth about the hair-face?”
She snorted in contempt.
“Head Splitters tell no one truth!”
“But, what do they want?”
“Who knows what Head Splitters want? They do not even trust themselves!”
She became confidential.
“I will try to find out if I can!”
“But is there a hair-face?”
“Of course! He is my chief!”
This astonishing bit of information left Cabeza gaping, openmouthed. The girl smiled, then continued.
“He looks like you!” She pointed to his fringe of beard. “He came to us, five, maybe six summers gone, when I was small. He brought us the elk-dog!”
“How is he called?”
“Heads Off.”
Now came the first major communications problem. Cabeza could not understand the signs and the name in the girl’s tongue meant nothing to him. Finally, he gave up. There was no way he could think of to determine whether this hair-faced chief was the son of Don Pedro.
The breeze was becoming chilly and the girl shivered a little. He drew the blanket around her shoulders and she leaned against him. The warmth of her body was good, but he was distracted by the information she had given him.
Why, if the Head Splitters knew all about the hair-faced chief, were they not telling the visitors? There was only one answer. For some devious purpose of their own, they preferred to keep the Garcia party uninformed. They must be alert for treachery.
“You will tell me what you can learn? They will do nothing tonight?” She nodded reassuringly and wriggled further into the blankets.
“Rah-mone?” She spoke his name aloud, startling him and attracting his attention. Now they had become conspirators, fellow prisoners, almost.
“Rah-mone,” she repeated, continuing her sentence in the sign talk. “I think now it would be good!”
When Ramon Cabeza awoke next morning, the girl was gone.
14
South Wind bent her head at her work of scraping the buffalo skin. She wished not to attract attention this morning. She had already made a grave mistake in looking too happy.
It infuriated her captor, Lean Bull, to think that she was happy, as she had learned quite early. She made it a point to frequently push him almost to the point of violence by singing at her work. Lean Bull, in retaliation, had tried in all ways to demean her. She had recognized this as his motive last night. He knew full well that, among the People, such use of women was not the custom. He had given her away for the night for the use of a brutal stranger. This would shame her, demean her, and help to break her spirit.
Imagine her own surprise to find a kind and gentle man who was sympathetic to her plight. She had made a grievous mistake, though, when she returned to Lean Bull’s lodge in the morning looking radiantly alive and happy.
Lean Bull was furious. He had beaten her and then assigned her to the attentions of his wives. Of course they set her at the most disagreeable of their chores this morning, that of scraping hides.
It would ordinarily have been possible for South Wind to appear cheerful, even at this task. She had grown up doing such chores and they presented no problem to her. She had sometimes purposely continued a cheerful attitude, merely to further irritate Lean Bull.
But not this morning. Today, she wished to be invisible. She must not attract attention to herself, so that she might learn more with which to help the Hair-faces. Her hair-face, she thought to herself, trying hard not to let the joyous tension show.
She had assumed from the first that some form of treachery was in the offing. Until now, she simply did not care. What concern of hers that her captors might kill this party of strange outsiders?
Now they were no longer outsiders, in her mind. They were of the far distant tribe of her own chief. This alone could be cause enough to protect them. But she also had a more personal motive. She must at all costs help the young subchief, Rah-mone, who appeared to be the leader of the hair-faced warriors. At least, they all spoke to him with respect. It was pleasing to her to note that a man such as this, with leadership abilities, could still be gentle and considerate. This he had proved last night.
South Wind wished so hard to help with his problems that she almost hurt for him. However, no bit of information came her way. Finally, finished with the skins, she went to gather firewood. She took a circuitous route through the camp, but heard no new information. She began to panic a little. What if the men of the camp attacked the visitors before she was able to learn of the plan?
South Wind returned to her captor’s lodge and realized that he had visitors. They were inside the lodge, which in itself was unusual for so hot a day, and were engaged in animated conversation.
The girl moved close to the side of the lodge cover and busied herself with arranging her armful of fuel on the ground. She could hear the men plainly and none of the women made any effort to prevent her overhearing. She had gone to great pains not to let her captors know how much of their language she actually understood. If they thought she did not understand, they would ignore her. So she busied herself, assumed a blank expression, and hung on every word.
“They give many gifts,” a man was saying.
“Yes, but they have many more. If they stay with us longer, they will give us more.”
“They have fine horses, too,” Lean Bull spoke. “If we pretend to help them, they will be off-guard. We can kill them at their first night camp and take all the horses and the gifts also. The Elk-dog people are easily two sleeps away.”
There was a murmur of approval. South Wind listened further, long enough to determine that this would be the plan. Her captors had determined the general area where the travelers would camp after one day’s journey north. They could be attacked while they slept, with very little risk to the attackers. The plotters finally dispersed, though not before the listening girl had departed. She must be sure no one suspected that she had overheard.
Three times that day, she wandered close to the travelers’ camp. Each time, she was prevented from contacting Cabeza by the approach of some of the other women. She did not wish to draw attention by making an issue of it, so she temporarily diverted her mission each time.
After darkness fell, South Wind knew that she must make her move. The beat of the dance drums was still throbbing at the council area and there was still feasting and revelry, but not so much as last night. The village was quieting for an earlier sleep tonight.
The girl slipped quietly away and threaded her way among the dark lodges. She was certain she would be followed, but she did not need much time. It would take only a moment to give the warning, once she found Rah-mone. Then they could do with her as they wished. She would have saved the travelers.
It was some time before she found him, walking toward his sleeping robes.
“Rah-mone!” She called softly.
The young man turned, smiling broadly, and held out his arms.
“No!” She shook her head. It was important that she not be distracted. She began to hand sign rapidly.
“You are in
great danger!”
“How?”
“They plan to kill you for your horses and supplies. When do you leave?”
“In the morning. When will they try to kill us?”
She was pleased that he was quick and to the point. There was so little time.
“While you sleep, at the first camp. You must be well prepared!”
“Come with us!”
For a few heartbeats, that suggestion appeared the most desirable thing in the world. Then reason returned. It would be too risky to attract the sort of attention that would ensue.
“No.” She shook her head firmly. Then, almost by chance, the girl saw, over the shoulder of the young man, an approaching figure. She recognized Lean Bull. Thinking quickly, she threw herself into the arms of the startled Cabeza, embracing him passionately. He instinctively returned the embrace, only to be startled again by the roar of Lean Bull.
“What are you doing here?”
South Wind cowered before him. Good, she thought. He is too angry at my being here to wonder what else might have happened.
“You gave me to him!” she gestured, sobbing.
“Not now! Daughter of a snake! You belong to me!” He gave her a shove. “Go to the lodge!”
His tirade was in his own tongue, but South Wind understood. Even Cabeza grasped the general meaning of the outburst.
“Wait!” he signed. “Let me buy her from you!”
This appeared to further infuriate Lean Bull. He struck out at the girl, the backhand slap knocking her to the ground. Her tormentor whirled to face Cabeza. A knife had appeared in his hand. The other, instantly on guard, drew his belt knife and the two circled warily in the bright moonlight.
Others came running.
“No, Lean Bull!” a man cried out. “He is a guest in our village!”
The newcomer placed himself between the combatants, facing Lean Bull.
“Don’t be stupid!” he continued softly. “You will spoil everything. You can kill him tomorrow!”
Slowly, Lean Bull’s anger began to cool. He straightened, turned, and walked haughtily away, followed by his friend.
Follow the Wind Page 6
