Love in the Wind

by Madeline Baker

  It was mid-May when word came that the Sioux had defeated General George “Three Stars” Crook in battle along the banks of the Rosebud. The Cheyenne crowed in triumph. It was a great coup to defeat Red Beard in battle. Suddenly, those warriors who had been less enthusiastic about the coming battle were fired with energy. Crook had been defeated. Let “Yellow Hair” Custer come! Yes, Custer, who had killed helpless men and women along the banks of the Washita. There were some here who had lost loved ones that bitter cold day when Custer and his men rode through the lodges of the Cheyenne while the Army band played Garry Owen.

  Iron Wing’s eyes glittered with the need for vengeance when he heard the name Custer. Too well, he remembered the Washita. He could recall clearly the horror of riding into the ravaged village, of seeing the burnt lodges, the horses that Custer had ordered shot, the dirty brown smudges of dried blood against the white snow. He had lost friends that day long ago. He had vowed to avenge their deaths, and now he was being given the opportunity. It was like a gift from Man Above.

  And then the word came from Sitting Bull. “It is war. Come to the Little Big Horn.”

  No council was needed to determine the will of the tribe. Sitting Bull had called, and they would answer. Preparation for the march to the Greasy Grass would begin the next day.

  That night, Iron Wing stared into the fire with a heavy heart. He had made a decision, and it hurt him deeply. But it must be done. When the tribe left to meet Sitting Bull, he would take Katy back to her own people, then circle back and join the Cheyenne.

  Katy stared at Iron Wing in stunned disbelief when he told her the news. “Send me away? Why?”

  “You will be safer with your own people. They will send you back to your mother.”

  “But I don’t want to go back,” Katy wailed. “I want to stay here with you.”

  “Ka-ty.” Iron Wing murmured her name, his heart aching. “This may be a long fight. I am afraid for you. If we lose the battle, the soldiers will ride through our village, killing everyone. Their bullets will not know that you are not one of us. I cannot take a chance that you might be killed.” He grinned ruefully. “You have often said you wanted to go home.”

  “But not now,” Katy pleaded. “Please don’t send me away.”

  “We leave in the morning.” Iron Wing said firmly. “There is a washichu settlement ten days ride from here. They will take good care of you.”

  Katy stared at the face of the man she had grown to love. She forgot all the times she had cried that she hated him, the times she had begged him to send her home, and knew only that she loved him desperately and he was sending her away. Two fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

  “Ka-ty.”

  She went into his arms and buried her face against his shoulder. He smelled of smoke and sage and sweat and she thought how she had grown to love his touch and his scent and the sound of his voice. She lifted her face for his kiss, shivering with delight as his mouth closed on hers and his arms grew tight around her.

  They did not bother with dinner that night but spent the darkening hours locked in each other’s arms. Few words were spoken. Katy knew it was useless to argue with Iron Wing once his mind was made up, and she did not want to spend her last hours with him bickering and quarreling. And deep in the back of her mind lingered the hope that during the ten-day ride to the settlement he would change his mind.

  Iron Wing held Katy close. He could not find words enough to tell her of the love he had for her, or find the right words to express the ache her absence would create in his heart. He thought of Sitting Bull and wished he possessed the eloquence of the Sioux medicine man. Perhaps then he could tell Katy of the love in his heart.

  He ran his fingers through her hair, liking the way the silken strands felt against his hand. He buried his face in her neck and breathed deeply, drawing her fresh, sweet womanly scent into his nostrils. How empty his lodge would be when she was gone. Never before had he realized how empty his existence had been. Katy had given his life meaning and purpose. She had brought him love and laughter. He had hoped that, one day, she would be the mother of his children. But he could not think of himself now. She would be safer with her own people, away from the violence that was about to explode on the broad, grassy plains of Dakota.

  And yet he dreaded the thought of living alone again, of eating and sleeping without Katy at his side. There would be no joy in his life when Katy was gone, no love, no laughter.

  With a wordless cry, he took her face in his hands and kissed her deeply, passionately. His hands roamed over every inch of her flesh as he poured out his love for her in a torrent of words.

  Katy returned his caresses with the same sense of urgent desire. She needed his touch, needed to feel his body pressed against her own, binding them together.

  “I will come for you when the war is over,” Iron Wing vowed. “Wait for me.”

  “I will,” Katy promised, but in her heart she knew he would never come. The Indians would never defeat the Army. If Iron Wing wasn’t killed in battle, he would be sent to live on a reservation and she would never see him again.

  As Iron Wing thrust into her, she hoped desperately that he would change his mind about sending her away. She knew she would rather face death than be separated from the man who was even now murmuring that he loved her more than his own life.

  But in the morning, nothing had changed. He was still determined to take her back to her own people. With a heavy heart, Katy packed her few belongings, bid a tearful farewell to Yellow Flower, Tall Buffalo and Bull Calf, and followed Iron Wing out of the village.

  They rode in silence for several miles. The prairie was in bloom, alive with color, but Katy was oblivious to her surroundings. Her mind was in turmoil as she thought of what was to come. How would the people at the fort accept her? Would they pity her? Shun her? Or mock her? And what would she say to her mother?

  For the first time in months, she thought of the Little Sisters of Mercy convent, of peaceful walls, of the statue of the Blessed Virgin. Would the Sisters still accept her? But the convent no longer had the power to soothe her troubled heart. She did not want to spend the rest of her life shut up behind high walls. She wanted to lie safe in Iron Wing’s arms, to hear his voice whisper words of love and desire, to share his lodge and bear his children.

  They crossed rolling hills and great, grassy plains that had once been thick with buffalo. But now the plains were virtually empty, with only hundreds of the big shaggy-maned beasts where there had once been thousands. Iron Wing rode in silence. Hard times were coming for the Cheyenne, for all the Plains tribes. He had known it ever since gold was discovered in the Sacred Hill in 1874. The Army had made a vain effort to keep settlers out of the Black Hills, but when the Sioux refused to give up their land, the Army withdrew their efforts. Since then, he had known it was just a matter of time until the white men took the land by force. And now that time was coming. He could not blame the whites for coveting the land, for it was rich with game, antelope, elk, deer, rabbits, beaver. There were forests in the Black Hills heavy with yellow pine, white spruce, poplar, birch, red cedar, aspen, oak. Man Above had blessed the land, and now the whites meant to have it.

  Iron Wing felt discouragement settle on his shoulders like a carrion crow. The Indians could not fight the white man forever. There was no end to the constant flood of whites crossing the prairie that had once known only the footprints of the Indian. If a white man was killed, ten others rose to take his place. The Cheyenne and the Sioux did not have ten warriors to take the place of a fallen brave. Nor did they possess the seemingly endless supply of guns and ammunition that was at the Army’s disposal. Other tribes had already been defeated by the thunder guns and the soldier coats. A few tribes had vanished from the face of the earth, wiped out by the diseases of the white eyes. Still other tribes had turned into “friendly” Indians. The Crow, ancient enemy of the Sioux and Cheyenne, had befriended the whites. Crow warriors scouted for the Army. They sold their
women to the soldiers for whiskey.

  It was only a matter of time, Iron Wing mused bitterly. Sooner or later the Cheyenne would go down in defeat. He did not intend for Katy to perish with him.

  Katy and Iron Wing exchanged few words during their journey. Occasionally, as they rode side by side, Iron Wing reached out to caress Katy’s arm or touch her cheek. His quiet gestures of affection tugged at Katy’s heart. He had become so dear to her. How would she endure life without him?

  Nights, she lay rigid on her side of the robe they shared, determined to repulse his advances. But he had only to lay a hand on her shoulder and her intentions to rebuff him melted like snow in the summer sun. Only in his arms could she ease the pain of their nearing separation. Her hands touched and explored every inch of his flesh, memorizing the way his muscles rippled beneath her fingertips, the way his hair felt in her hands, the length and breadth and smell of him. And nightly, she prayed a child would be born of their love so that she might have someone to cherish when he was gone.

  The morning of the tenth day, they topped a rocky hillside. The settlement lay below, what was left of it. Only the outer walls remained standing. Everything else had been burned to the ground, with only blackened foundations to show where buildings had stood. Iron Wing left Katy behind while he rode down the hill to read the sign, though it was clear what had happened. Indians on the move to join Sitting Bull had attacked the settlement, destroying everyone inside and making off with whatever horses and livestock they could find. Bodies littered the ground. Most had been gnawed by wolves, or by the great black birds that took to the air at his approach, circling high overhead while they waited for him to leave.

  On foot, he walked through the charred ruins. There was no sign of life. He paused near the back wall of the fort, his face thoughtful. The Indians had suffered much at the hands of the whites. Now, with Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse rallying the tribes together, the white intruders would be made to pay for the many broken treaties, and broken Indian bodies. The Indians might achieve a few victories, he mused, and they would be sweet indeed, but in the end the Indians would lose. He felt it strongly, and it caused him great pain. And yet, he would fight to the end, and fight gladly. Better to die in battle, with a lance in his hand and a war cry on his lips than to bow in subjection to the white man, or live penned up on a reservation, his freedom gone forever.

  His dark thoughts were sharply curtailed by a shrill scream, and he whirled around to see a large group of riders surround Katy. They were a mixed bunch, made up of whites, Mexicans, and a few flat-faced Apaches. Iron Wing’s first impulse was to attack, but he quickly realized that such a course of action would accomplish little but his own death under a fusillade of bullets. Noiseless as a shadow, he melted through a break in the wall and disappeared into the underbrush.

  Katy stared at the men surrounding her, mesmerized with fear. They were outlaws, renegades—she was certain of it. They were armed with pistols, rifles, knives, and bandoleros slotted with fat shiny shells. The men leered at her for a long time, all the more frightening because they did not speak. A man on her left slowly reached out and touched her cheek. Another ran a dirty hand through her hair. A third laid a hairy brown paw over her breast and squeezed.

  “No, don’t!” Katy screamed the words, but only a hoarse whisper emerged from her throat.

  Feeling more helpless and afraid than she had ever been in her life, she searched the swarthy faces hovering around her, hoping to find one that showed a spark of pity or compassion, but she saw only lust reflected in their eyes, and in the slack set of their mouths.

  No one said a word, but suddenly they were all moving at once, their hands dragging her from her horse, tearing at her clothing, clawing at her exposed flesh.

  Sobbing with fear, Katy fought them as one possessed of evil spirits, but they quickly subdued her. Throwing her roughly to the ground, four men grabbed her arms and legs, pinning her down, while a fifth man stripped her naked. An almost reverent hush fell over the outlaws as they stared at the girl writhing on the ground. And then they began to grin.

  Crying uncontrollably, Katy craned her neck from side to side, hoping to see Iron Wing, but all she could see was his horse standing hipshot in the shadow of one wall. Despair settled over her like a shroud, and she went suddenly limp. Iron Wing had abandoned her.

  One man remained apart from the others. He was short and stocky, with enormous biceps and a barrel chest. His eyes followed Katy’s frantic gaze and came to rest on the spotted stallion standing ground-tied near the front wall of the burned out settlement.

  “Amigos,” he called quietly, and jerked his head toward Iron Wing’s stallion. “She was not alone. Pablo, Vincente, Sam! Andale!”

  The three designated men mounted their horses and rode into the ruined fort. Guns drawn, they searched through the rubble. Finding no one, they spread out and circled the walls. Again, they found nothing.

  The leader turned hard gray eyes on Katy. “Who was with you?” he asked in a voice like steel.

  “No one.”

  The outlaw leader sat on his heels beside Katy, his eyes boring into her own. “Who was with you?” he asked again.

  “No one.”

  His slap made her ears ring. “I will ask you one last time,” he warned, “and then I will let Carlito have you. You will not like Carlito.”

  “But Carlito will like her!” The man called Carlito was the shortest, ugliest man Katy had ever seen. He danced around her, his close-set yellow eyes alive with malice. Saliva dripped from the corner of his mouth. He held a long-bladed dagger in one hand, and he waved it under her nose. “I would like you very much,” he cackled.

  Katy threw a pleading look at the bandit leader. “There was an Indian with me. He was taking me back to my people. He was…” Katy screamed as Carlito ran a hideously deformed hand along the inner part of her thigh. “Don’t let him touch me!” she begged. “Please don’t let him touch me!”

  “Carlito, enough.”

  The little man scowled at his boss, but he obediently backed away, only to crouch at Katy’s feet, an expectant look on his face.

  “Where is this Indian now?” the bandit leader demanded.

  “I don’t know,” Katy sobbed hopelessly. “I guess he ran away.”

  “A wise move,” the outlaw remarked. His slate gray eyes studied her as if she were a horse he was thinking of buying. “Tonio, bring the stallion. Pablo, get the lady’s horse. Marquett, watch the woman.”

  “El Lobo,” one of the men ventured cautiously. “Surely we are not leaving just yet?” The man inclined his head in Katy’s direction. “Surely we must sample the delights of one so fair?”

  The leader, El Lobo, shook his head. “I think not, Caspar. I think we will take her to Herrera’s.”

  Caspar threw a speculative glance at Katy. “Herrera’s?” He whistled under his breath. “I don’t know. Herrera likes them skinny and blonde.”

  El Lobo laughed mirthlessly. “Do not be a bigger fool than you are, Caspar. Look at her! Herrera will want her. And he will pay for her.”

  “Pay for me!” Katy exclaimed, her curiosity overcoming her fear. “What are you talking about?”

  El Lobo grinned at her. It was a decidedly nasty grin. “Herrera is a compadre of mine. He runs the biggest brothel in all of Mexico.”

  “A brothel,” Katy gasped in horror. “You aren’t going to…”

  “Sí,” El Lobo said, pulling Katy to her feet. “I am going to sell you to Herrera. He will pay handsomely for a wench as delectable as you. And if he has suddenly gone blind or impotent, then I will keep you for myself.”

  “Please let me go,” Katy begged, covering her nakedness as best she could with her hands. “If it’s money you want, my mother will pay you whatever you wish. She’s very rich.”

  “No, chiquita. It is too risky to hold you for ransom. Always, the rurales get involved, and someone gets hurt. With Herrera, there is no risk, only profit.”

&nb
sp; “No!” Katy shrieked hysterically as one of the men slipped a filthy poncho over her nakedness. “You can’t sell me. You can’t!”

  “But I can,” El Lobo replied implacably. And turning a deaf ear to her sobs, he lifted her into the saddle of her horse and tied her hands securely to the pommel.

  “No, please,” Katy sobbed, then whimpered as the outlaw slapped her, twice, re­ducing her cries to silent tears.

  Katy watched dully as El Lobo and his men mounted their horses. One of them took her horse’s reins. She looked over her shoulder, hoping to discover some sign of Iron Wing but what could he do against so many?

  There was no sign of him.

  Iron Wing watched Katy ride away, surrounded by outlaws. He had heard only bits and pieces of what had been said, but the words were not important. The man, El Lobo, had slapped Katy, and for that he would die.

  Iron Wing waited until the outlaws were out of sight before he left his cover and started after them. He had no weapons but the knife in his belt. No horse. No food. His face twisted with anger as he began to run in long, easy strides. He had brought Katy to the settlement to protect her, and now she was in greater danger than before.

  The tracks of the outlaw band were easy to follow. Iron Wing ran tirelessly, driven by his love for Katy. As the sun went down, he slowed to a walk. The man, El Lobo, was very smart. He had taken precautions in case Katy’s unseen companion decided to follow them. Two of the bandits had been sent to get behind Iron Wing and take him unawares. A white man would not have noticed the brushed out hoof prints that veered away from the main body of riders, but in brushing out their tracks, the two outlaws had left another trail, just as easy to follow.

  Too easy. The words whispered in the back of Iron Wing’s mind. Feeling suddenly vulnerable as a newborn babe, the warrior went swiftly to ground, his eyes and ears attuned to pick up any unusual sound or movement. The muted vibration of hooves striking the earth warned him. Glancing over his shoulder, Iron Wing saw that the two men following him had separated. The one on his left was closest. The outlaw was leaning over his gelding’s neck, checking the ground for signs.