Best of all were the times when the young couple merely spent quiet hours in each other’s arms. They made love in the warmth of the day’s sunshine and bundled in the warm furry robes of their bed, cuddling close against the night’s chill. Cabeza, at these times, would have liked to forget for all eternity the responsibilities of the outside world and relax here in the security of their private little paradise forever.
They were at the beaver pond on the afternoon when their ecstasy was shattered. Both had just emerged from the water and they had run, laughing, to the waiting robe under the sycamore. They were sitting, facing each other, and playfully flicking droplets of water from each other’s skin. These episodes had come to signal for both the preliminaries to a warm, prolonged embrace.
Cabeza was relishing the look of adoration in the girl’s eyes as she teasingly touched him lightly across the chest and stomach. He was becoming aroused and was on the verge of playfully grabbing the teaser in a mock-ferocious bear hug for a rolling tussle on the robe.
Suddenly, the smiling, teasing expression on the pretty face changed to one of utter horror. South Wind had been gazing full in his face, but now lifted her eyes ever so slightly to look past him to something beyond.
Fighting to overcome his complete preoccupation, Cabeza whirled and rolled, instinctively dodging whatever danger was reflected in the terror-stricken eyes of South Wind. Almost at the same time, he heard the muffled clop of a horse’s hoof. There, only a few paces away, sat Lean Bull on an efficient-looking war-horse.
There was an expression of complete triumph on the painted face. They were caught in the open, with nowhere to run for defense. Both were naked and their weapons were back at the brush arbor near their fire. Even at the time, Cabeza felt a flash of burning resentment that the man had probably been observing them for days, watching for the right moment.
Cabeza considered briefly the possibility of sprinting across the meadow to his weapons. Even on foot, the lance would serve well. He quickly abandoned the thought. Before he had gone a few steps, the horse would be upon him, its rider swinging the deadly club.
He glanced at the beaver pool. Could they throw themselves into the water and swim the few strokes to the other side? No, there was no escape there. The horse could easily follow and on the other side was a steep rocky face, impossible to climb.
Lean Bull chuckled and Cabeza realized that the intruder had already evaluated all of these possibilities. Even as this thought occurred to him, Lean Bull began the swinging arc with his heavy war club, gaining with each circling motion the momentum that could deliver a crushing death blow.
The defenseless pair scrambled to their feet. Cabeza gave South Wind a shove toward the pool.
“Quick! In the water!”
He did not know whether the girl would understand him, but this was the only possibility he saw, even though temporary. The attacker was principally interested in the destruction of Cabeza. Maybe he could delay the onslaught long enough for the girl to escape. If she swam to the head of the pool, there might be shelter among the rocks.
Lean Bull dug heels into the horse’s flanks, and the animal leaped forward in a deadly rush. Cabeza waited and, at the last possible moment, jumped behind the bole of the sycamore. The whirling club crashed against the bark, sending shattered splinters flying. A patch of denuded trunk the size of one’s palm glistened white in the mottled sunlight.
The horseman wheeled to strike again and Cabeza dodged, keeping the bulk of the tree between them. The horse was quick, however, expertly anticipating and dodging to block the escape of the man on foot. To the experienced animal, this was not much different than following the dodging course of a buffalo’s attempted escape.
For a moment, there was a stalemate. As long as Cabeza remained at the tree, the whirling club could not reach him. Unfortunately, neither could he escape. The standoff must end in either of two ways. The quarry must break and run, to be cut down from behind, or he must eventually tire and fail to continue the quick footwork that now kept him from destruction. Lean Bull smiled with anticipation.
Both men reckoned without South Wind. The girl was frantically looking for anything to use as a weapon. A rock, a stick, anything to help her husband. She scrambled along the shore, searching. On this side of the pool were only small white gravelly stones, not big enough to throw. Likewise, there were no trees or underbrush on this side. Nothing, except the big lone sycamore.
Frantically, she ran stumbling along the bank toward the beaver dam. There, the animals had been cutting small cottonwoods. Bright new yellow sticks woven into the dam contrasted with the dark gray-brown of the older materials. Her eye fell on a discarded length of sapling, nearly as long as her arm and as thick as a man’s wrist. She seized the object and hurried back.
South Wind, during her days in the Rabbit Society, had delighted in her athletic ability. Too slight of build to compete with her male counterparts at wrestling, she had determined to excel in running and in the use of weapons. Her skill with the throwing sticks had been unsurpassed for several seasons. Many a rabbit had found its way to the lodge of Lame Fox during this time.
Now she sprinted back toward the tree, hefting the balance of the cottonwood stick. It would do. It must.
The girl panted to a stop, unheeded for the moment by either man. She circled, waiting for the right moment. The throw must be true. There could be but one.
Cabeza feinted left and dodged right, but the skilled buffalo horse anticipated and was there before him. This move, however, brought the horse and rider out from behind the tree.
The yellow cottonwood beaver-cutting arched gracefully end over end through the air, with all the force and accuracy of South Wind’s expertise. Lean Bull caught only a glimpse of some flying object before it struck, just in front of the left ear. Limply he slid from the horse and landed heavily on his side. The animal bolted away and Lean Bull struggled to rise, breathless, confused and uncertain. Instantly, he was bowled over by the rush of two naked bodies.
Cabeza grasped the shaft of the stone war club at each end and pressed it against the warrior’s throat, choking him against the ground. South Wind was snatching at the thong of the man’s breechclout, searching for the knife she knew he kept there. Her hand encountered the hilt and she ripped the weapon from its sheath. In one sweeping motion, the razor-sharp flint swung in a precise arc and buried itself in the soft underbelly of the struggling warrior.
The struggles quieted and the two victors, breathless, sat back on their heels to look at each other in disbelief. Cabeza was breathing heavily, ragged gasps that showed how near exhaustion he had been. He rose and staggered over to fall on the rumpled buffalo robe. South Wind ran to fall on her knees beside him and the young man appreciatively circled her with an arm.
Once again, the girl had saved his life.
39
One more night the young couple spent in their retreat. It had been late afternoon by the time the attack of Lean Bull took place, too late to do anything but prepare for the night.
The episode had brought them even closer together, but for them, the magic of their secret glen had been destroyed. It could never be the same for them after the presence of the intruder. Both knew, by the time they arose, that the day had come to return to the People.
The preparations for departure took somewhat longer than necessary. Both young people were reluctant to leave. There seemed the vague hope that somehow the event of the previous afternoon would prove not to have happened. But it was not to be. The presence of the enemy warrior’s horse, tethered and grazing in the little meadow, was a reminder.
They made a small pack of their remaining food and rolled their sleeping robes for traveling. They had walked in, to avoid the inconvenience of caring for horses. Now they chose to walk on their return, allowing the horse to carry their possessions.
Sun Boy was just past the top of his daily run when they approached the village. Children ran ahead with news of their return
and that the couple had somehow acquired an elk-dog!
There were many exclamations of surprise as the story of Lean Bull’s attack was related.
“He must have watched us for days,” Cabeza confided to Heads Off.
“Yes, I had forgotten that he vowed vengeance at the creek. That was careless of me, Ramon!”
“My friend, I am the careless one! We were very lucky!”
It had been decided during the absence of the newlyweds that the entire band would move, to travel with the visitors for a time toward the winter camp. A site had been chosen to the southeast, one of perennial appeal to the People. It was of value not only for its sheltered location, but for its great beauty. For many winters, this had been one of the favorite places for the Elk-dog band and they returned every few seasons.
Word of the move passed through the band. It would be three days hence and those who were belated in their preparations began frantically packing belongings in the rawhide packs.
Sun Boy was hardly up on the morning of departure before the first of the big lodges came down. Each family worked to fold and pack the lodge cover on a pole-drag, along with their personal effects. Young men rounded up the loose horses of the band, holding them in a nearby meadow until the procession was under way. The horse herd would bring up the rear, to avoid creating dust in the column itself.
It was on the second afternoon of travel that they encountered the Head Splitters. Cabeza, riding at the front of the column with Heads Off, Long Elk, and Sanchez, reached for his lance.
“No, put it away, Ramon,” chuckled Heads Off. “There will be no fighting.”
“These are not Head Splitters?”
“Yes, but they have their women and children with them and so do we. Neither group will risk a fight.”
The two columns circled warily and soon, in the manner Cabeza had already seen, three men detached themselves from the other party and cantered forward.
“Long Elk, Ramon, come.” The chief casually kneed his horse forward.
“Ah-koh,” the enemy chief greeted, extending his right hand upward, palm forward. Then he began to signal.
“You have found good hunting?”
“Yes,” answered Heads Off, also in hand talk. “Very good. The weather is good.”
Cabeza was dumbfounded. He was certain these were men of the same band they had visited and later fought. Yet here they sat, calmly talking about the weather with their mortal enemies.
“The Hair-faces winter with you?”
“No, they go south. Some of us go with them.”
An animated conversation had now started between two of the Head Splitters, with one pointing to Cabeza’s horse.
“That is the horse of Lean Bull,” signed one.
Cabeza shook his head.
“That is the horse of me,” he gestured. “It was the horse of Lean Bull when he was alive.”
There were exclamations of surprise and awe. Obviously, these warriors did not know until now of Lean Bull’s demise.
“One of our women killed him,” Long Elk shrugged matter-of-factly.
This was the ultimate in insults, a twisting of the thorn in the flesh. Considering the Head Splitters’ low esteem of women, there could be no worse way to meet one’s death than at the hands of one of the women of the People.
“Lean Bull was crazy anyway,” observed the Head Splitter chief.
It seemed a good place to end the conversation and Heads Off calmly reined his horse around. The Head Splitters gripped their weapons, but made no overt move. The emissaries rode slowly back toward their own groups.
“I don’t understand, Juan. There is no fighting? You talked to their chief almost like old friends.”
“What would you do, Ramon? Neither side can afford to start anything. We will fight another time. Long Elk did overdo the thing about our women a little,” he chuckled. “Did you see how furious they were?”
“Do you meet them often like this?”
“Yes, nearly every year. It’s a time for swapping threats about what we’ll do to each other next time. Nothing ever comes of it.”
The two columns circled cautiously and moved on. No more Head Splitters were seen.
With good weather holding and easy traveling, the People reached winter camp in good condition. The temptation to stay was strong for Cabeza, but responsibility prevailed and, after a day’s final preparation, the party set off for the long trip to the coast.
For the young Elk-dog men, it was an exciting adventure, a chance to see new country. For the others, each step was nearer home. South Wind, alone, was leaving the land of her home, probably never to return. She was so completely occupied, however, with the joy of her marriage to Cabeza, that Heads Off was certain she would do well. Many men, he knew, took foreign wives back to Spain and South Wind should be able to hold her own anywhere.
The girl turned to wave once more as the group set off.
Travel was rapid, much more so than with the entire band. This was a party composed of horsemen, mobile and well armed. They were able to achieve much better speed, in fact, than on the trip north. Now there was no uncertainty, no question as to their goal. They could push ahead as fast as horses and riders were able to tolerate.
Perhaps one of the more striking differences on this trip was the change in Sanchez. The little man had seemed to grow in stature and in self-esteem. He had become quite a respectable marksman with the crossbow. He had friends now among the lancers. Even his relationship to Lizard was changed. It was amazing to see how the stresses of the expedition, the imminent threat of death, had hardened and tempered the soft personality into a keen and resilient individual.
Much of this was merely noticed by the others and was completely overlooked by Sanchez. In his mind, he only wished to get back to civilization, as represented by an everpresent supply of food and wine and the occasional comfort of a feminine companion. He had completely forgotten that one of his original aims for this expedition was the opportunity to steal from those who had more than Sanchez. And that, of course, was practically everyone.
40
It was not until many months later that Sanchez actually became objective in his thinking. He was sitting in the dim of a musty cantina, where he had spent many of his waking hours since his return. He was surrounded by friends. He had friends most of the time now, since he had money.
Sanchez was recalling the many things which had happened to him in the past two years. Their trip home had been unremarkable. They had found the garrison on the river without event and suffered a severe verbal reprimand for crossing the river from the officer in charge. When he learned they had no more silver, even that subsided.
The officer cast covetous glances at South Wind, but Cabeza’s attitude clearly said that he would tolerate no nonsense. Even had Cabeza not been present, many of the party would cheerfully have given their lives in the defense of the spirited girl. It had not been forgotten that she had been their only warning of treachery by the Head Splitters.
So it happened that Sergeant Perez had been obliged to give some fatherly advice in due course of time. Noticing a lustful leer on the face of the officer as he watched the swing of South Wind’s graceful body, the grizzled sergeant had sidled close.
“Lieutenant, she killed a man once for a look no worse than that. If she hadn’t, I have at least six men who would have.”
The lieutenant was impressed enough by the tone and obvious sincerity that he did not proceed to question the precise accuracy of the remark. However, he kept his thoughts more carefully concealed.
Oliviera had sailed the Paloma into the bay at precisely the appointed time. They had bid good-bye to Lizard with some regret. He had become well respected for his contribution. He was also an influential man among his own people now.
A similar melancholy had fallen over the little group when they reached home shores. They had given much, had invested a portion of their lives in each other. It was hard to think that they would nev
er be together again.
The attorney of Don Pedro Garcia had talked to them. The old man had set up an intricate plan to pay bonus money in addition to their regular pay for those who successfully returned. Sanchez, in the event of success in the finding of Juan Garcia, was to receive a handsome stipend, which was now awarded to him. Likewise, Ramon Cabeza was well rewarded.
Then the group had scattered. The Garcia servants, of course, would return to the service of Doña Isabel Garcia.
Several of the professional soldiers found jobs waiting for men of such experience in the New World.
Ramon Cabeza had nearly decided that the life of a professional soldier was not to his liking. Now that he was a married man, it seemed hardly a fit existence. Consequently, it was without great regret that he accepted his father’s suggestion. The elder Cabeza, failing in health, wished to turn over the reins of his vast ranch holdings to his son. Immediately, Ramon Cabeza hired Sergeant Perez to help manage the horse-breeding portion of the Cabeza interests.
Sanchez, for his part, had been drunk for two weeks. None of the cheap red house wine for this man of means. He ordered only the best and the innkeepers were happy to oblige. To take advantage, even, of the fact that Sanchez really knew very little of any but the poorest of wines.
And he had been surrounded by friends. Never, in all his life, had he had so many. Sanchez bought round after round of wine and the parties lasted until far into the small hours. Sometimes all night.
Just now he was drunk, a little sad, and feeling very sorry for one Sanchez. He sipped his good red wine and only felt worse. A tawdry bar girl tried to sit on his lap and he pushed her gently away. He needed to think.
Why, in Christ’s name, why? How could anyone, surrounded by food, wine, and friends, feel unhappy? In a half-drunken stupor, he tried to remember how it had been before he had money. He remembered that he had usually drunk alone. An acquaintance staggered past, arm around the waist of a hard-looking woman. He stopped and, above the din of the crowd in the inn, shouted in Sanchez’s ear.
Follow the Wind Page 16
