Cheyenne Song

by Georgina Gentry

  “You are a good brother!” Nat laughed, too, as they swung up on their horses. “Hey, Howard, I know of a fine farm a couple of miles north of my place we could hit tomorrow or the next day. Farmer’s got two pretty young daughters, one for each of us.”

  “But after that,” Howard said, “we’re going down to Indian Territory and get Glory; after all, I think if she sleeps with me, that makes the divorce null and void.”

  “You gonna share her?” Nat asked as he spurred his horse.

  “Well, now, of course; share and share alike, that’s the Halstead brothers.” He spurred his horse and they began gathering up the snorting horses and cattle grazing in the yard of the burning house.

  Abruptly, riders appeared on the horizon.

  Howard reined in. “Oh God, it’s soldiers, I reckon. Quick, Nat, dump them gold pieces and throw away the scalps, we’ll tell them we got here just in time to run the Injuns off.”

  Nat’s ugly face lit up as he wiped at the paint on his homely face. “We’ll be heroes; that’s almost as good.”

  As they wiped away the paint, Howard got a closer look at the riders coming in through the foggy cold dawn. “Wait a minute,” he whispered, “I don’t see no blue uniforms.”

  “Maybe it’s buffalo hunters.” Nat peered at the figures. “The way they hate Injuns, they’ll believe our story.”

  In the split second that passed, Howard suddenly realized the riders were dark-skinned, painted, and half-naked. “Oh God, Nat, ride and ride hard! It’s Injuns!”

  “Maybe it’s Injun scouts from the fort—”

  But Howard was already lashing his surprised horse, swearing as he took off at a gallop. “Maybe we can outrun them!”

  “Brother, wait for me!” Nat yelled, but Howard didn’t look back. He was concerned with saving himself; his brother would have to do the best he could.

  He heard the sound of his brother galloping after him and the sudden shriek as Nat’s horse stumbled and fell. Nat’s shriek floated on the air after him. “Brother, come back for me! We can ride double!”

  Howard glanced behind him, saw his brother holding up his hands, running after him. The Indians on the horizon were coming hard now, Howard could see them gaining on him. He might get away, but not if his horse had to carry double.

  Abruptly, riders materialized out of the brush ahead of Howard, cutting off his escape. Howard swore and reined his horse to the left, trying to avoid the painted warriors. Behind him, he heard Nat shrieking for mercy.

  Cheyenne. Real Cheyenne. Howard tried to dodge past the big painted warrior coming at him on a pinto horse, and, as he did, the warrior swung his rifle and caught Howard across the chest, knocking him from his saddle. Pain seemed to explode in Howard’s chest, and he cried out as he flew through the air and hit the ground.

  Even as he groveled, the big Cheyenne dismounted, stood towering over him. “So you play at being Cheyenne and cause us more trouble.”

  “You speak English?” Howard babbled, crawling toward the other man on his knees. “We didn’t do anything, honest! Look, I have gold, you want?” He took the sack from his pocket, held it up.

  In answer, the tall savage glared at him and knocked the gold from his hand.

  “Look, what can I give you? We have scalps! Look at this pretty blond one!” He held it out with shaking hands. “You want scalps?”

  The Indian glared at the bloody thing. “What happened to the woman?”

  Oh, the Injun was interested in white women. Howard’s hand shook as he reached into his pocket for the daguerreotype. “You want a woman? Maybe I can get this one for you! How’d you like this one?”

  The other frowned suddenly, jerked the oval frame from Howard’s trembling hand. “Your woman?”

  Howard nodded frantically. “She’s down in the Territory; I’ll make you a present of her if you’ll just let me go!”

  The other smiled ever so slightly, as if he knew something Howard did not. Abruptly, the warrior tucked the small picture into his waistband, grabbed Howard by the neck, and began to drag him back to where the others surrounded Nat.

  Nat was groveling and begging, sweat running down his paint-smeared face. He smelled as if he had soiled himself. “Howard, tell them we ain’t done nothin’, we’ll share what we got; give them anything they want. Tell them, brother.”

  Howard looked around the circle on stern, unsmiling faces. “We—we have a ranch on Sappa Creek,” he gasped. “Let us go and—”

  “Ask your brother if he was at Sappa Creek three years ago!” the big one demanded.

  “Sure he was, what difference—?” Howard paused, realizing what the Indian was asking. He remembered too late how Nat had laughed about the buffalo hunters and the ranchers joining forces to attack the Cheyenne camp, slaughter the women and children. “Look, I wasn’t there,” he implored the silent Indians. “He was there”—he gestured toward Nat—“but I wasn’t. Take your revenge on him and let me go!”

  Horror etched Nat’s ugly face. “Why, brother, you dirty—!” Then he fell on his knees, groveling and begging, “Don’t kill us!” He gasped. “We’ll give you all the stuff we’ve stolen the last few days!”

  The tall warrior smiled without mirth. “Those things we will take anyway. We are about to do the settlers of this county a favor, whether they realize it or not.” He turned and barked an order to the others. “They have robbed, tortured, and killed. Give them the sentence their own law would give them.” He glared down at Howard. “I only wish I had the time to repay you fully for what you did to Glory.”

  “Glory?” How did this savage know Glory? “How—?”

  Two Arrows didn’t bother to answer. He turned and strode toward his horse, listening to the two white men begging and groveling behind him. Even though Howard Halstead deserved to die, he didn’t want the coward’s blood on his hands. He heard the man scream and looked back. Howard lay pinned to the earth by a lance, kicking like a speared rabbit. His brother, who had admitted to being at the Sappa Creek massacre, was grabbed by two of the warriors and dragged kicking and screaming toward the burning house. Women and children had been thrown into the flames of their own tipis at Sappa Creek.

  “No!” the white man screamed. “Oh, please!”

  The expressions of the Cheyenne did not change as they grabbed him and threw him bodily into the flames. The man screamed and tried to run out, his clothes on fire. The men grabbed him to throw him back into the fire.

  At that moment, Two Arrows sickened of the torture, raised his rifle, and shot the man between the eyes as the braves threw his body back into the fire. “We show you more mercy than you showed our people,” he said softly.

  The other white man moaned and moved, still pinned in the dirt by the lance. He could live a long time this way. Two Arrows took out the precious daguerreotype he had taken away from Howard and stared at Glory’s lovely face, remembering the pain and terror she had described to him she had endured as Howard Halstead’s wife. She would always be afraid as long as this man lived. The man deserved torture, but Two Arrows had no stomach for it; not even for this beast. “End his pain!” Two Arrows ordered.

  Wild Hog stepped to the white man, grabbed his hair, and jerked his head back, then cut his throat.

  Tangle Hair frowned. “Soldiers may be drawn by the smoke, they will hold us responsible.”

  Two Arrows stared at the dead men. “These two deserved to die, but you are right; we would get the blame. Gather up food and weapons!”

  “There’s good horses and fat cattle those white men were stealing,” Tangle Hair noted. “We feast tonight!”

  “Remember there are others who deserve our revenge!” A warrior brandished his rifle as he swung up on his lathered horse. “Soon the whole of Sappa Creek runs red with blood as it did three years ago when my woman died there!”

  The warriors yelped in triumph and rode out at a gallop, leaving the homestead burning behind them. Two Arrows breathed easier, knowing that never again w
ould Glory have to fear that her husband might come after her. Two Arrows would protect her forever; he loved her so!

  The people were grateful for the horses and fat cattle the warriors drove back to them. The war parties also picked up a few weapons and blankets when they attacked other ranches along Sappa Creek. In some cases, perhaps innocent whites suffered for Lieutenant Henely’s massacre of Indians at Sappa Creek three years earlier, but there was no way to tell the innocent from the guilty as the Cheyenne went on a rampage.

  Two Arrows took very little part in the killings, wanting only to get meat and supplies back to the little group of marchers so they could move on.

  When Two Arrows dismounted, Glory ran into his arms, trembling. “I was so afraid for you.”

  He would not tell her about Howard yet; maybe he never would. “We are all alive; but we’ve left the valley ablaze. There’s no doubt the army will be on our trail again, but at least we have fat beef and fresh horses now.”

  The people found a little draw out of the wind and cut up a beef. Then they gorged themselves on the fat meat and settled down to rest for a few hours.

  Two Arrows wrapped Proud One in his blanket and held her close, kissing her face. The wind had picked up and it smelled like snow. “We will move out in the middle of the night,” he whispered, “before the soldiers start to look for us. Nebraska is only a few miles away, and in those sand hills up there, we can easily lose our pursuers.”

  “Is it going to snow?” She put her warm face against his bare chest.

  He nodded, and brushed her hair from her eyes. “Perhaps that is good, Proud One, it will cover our tracks.”

  “It will make it harder going,” she said, “and so many are worn-out and can’t go any farther.”

  “All we can do is try, my love,” he whispered. “We’ll keep moving, even if we have to wade through snowdrifts. After all, no one ever thought we would get this far across the Indian Territory and Kansas.”

  Her warm mouth nibbled at his chest and licked across his nipple, sending spasms of pleasure through him.

  “It is a good night to make love,” she murmured against his chest.

  He held her face against him and reached down to squeeze her full, soft breast. “With you, every night is a good night to make love.”

  “I can never get enough of you,” she sighed.

  He kissed his way down her belly and then her thighs until she was writhing under him, clawing his back and holding his mouth against her. He stroked her with his fingers and she arched against him, silky wet and ready.

  He was throbbing with his own need when he rolled over on her and slowly thrust his manhood into her. “You’re so hot, my woman,” he said against her mouth. “I’m going to take you tonight until my seed runs down your silken thighs.”

  “Then do it,” she challenged him, and began to move rhythmically under him. “I want your son.”

  Her words set his desire and his body on fire. Yes, he wanted to breed her, make her belly big with his child, cause her breasts to swell with milk for his son. He was aching with need as he came down into her hard, thrusting deep while she dug her nails into his back and tilted her hips, meeting him thrust for thrust until he reached one final plateau of pleasure and went deep, clasping her to him, pouring his seed into her very depths.

  Even as he did so, he heard her gasp for breath and felt her nails clawing his wide shoulders. “Oh, love,” she gasped, “oh, love, you are so wonderful!”

  He swept her into his arms, protecting her, covering her, kissing her face while he surged deep in her and felt her eager body squeeze his seed into her eager womb.

  She was asleep in minutes, while he was still in her. He could feel the warm breath of her mouth and the softness of her small face against his broad chest while he held her close, keeping her warm with his big body.

  For these few precious moments, he lay there, meshed with the woman he loved above all others, loved more than his own life. In an hour or so, they would have to be on the trail again, and the north wind was picking up. Two Arrows used his muscular body to shield the sleeping girl beneath him from the icy wind. He was cold, but he would not move and disturb her rest. He felt something touch his face, looked up. Snow fell from the cold black night; only a few flakes at first, and then the flakes grew larger and fell faster. He tried to shield her lovely face but a snowflake fell on her eyelashes and he leaned over, kissed it away. She smiled in her sleep and murmured to him.

  “It’s all right, Proud One,” he whispered, “I will take care of you, always.”

  The snow fell faster, and the wind picked up. The Cheyenne had lost the battle against time, Two Arrows knew. The winter had come, and with it, the blizzards, before the people could make warm, snug camps up in their homeland valleys. Many sleeping here tonight would not survive the cold that was to come. Proud One would survive, he vowed, if it cost him his own life.

  In the middle of the night, the wolf roused the camp with his echoing howl. Two Arrows could see him poised up on a bluff in the moonlight, his breath drifting like frost as he began to run, looking back to see if the people were coming with him.

  Two Arrows wrapped his woman in a buffalo fur and then roused the camp so they could make ready to move out.

  One old man could not be roused; he had died there in his sleep. One less free Cheyenne to be returned to captivity, Two Arrows thought bitterly as he took his own blanket to wrap the frail body in. It was shameful to leave an old and honored warrior lying in the snow with not even a blanket to cover him. However, there were no trees here in this windswept place to build a burial platform, and the little band could not spare the luxury of killing a horse to carry him on his way up the Ekutsihimmiyo, the Hanging Road to the Sky. Two Arrows asked the man’s spirit and the gods for forgiveness as they left the ancient one on the ground and piled a few rocks over him to keep away the coyotes.

  The snow fell thick and fast now, covering the bleak brown prairie with a pristine white blanket. Two Arrows saddled up and placed Proud One on his horse, still wrapped in his buffalo fur. Then he swung up on the horse and she snuggled against his broad back, protected against the cold north wind by his muscular body as they rode out of the camp, breaking trail for the weaker ones behind.

  They had lost the race against time, he thought, yet the snow would cover their tracks when the bluecoats came looking, and it was good to feel his woman warm against his back. When he glanced down, her slim arms were locked about his waist. He reached down to caress her small hand and smiled to see Proud One still wore the beaded bracelet that little Grasshopper had given her.

  The group of Cheyenne started north into the howling blizzard. Things looked hopeless, Two Arrows thought, with Dull Knife and Little Wolf arguing over what they should do next, but nothing much mattered to him but that his woman was against his back, warm and protected. Moccasin Woman and the child were mounted on a fresh horse, as was Redbird, her baby snug in its cradleboard. Two Arrows had seen to them. They might not all make it, but Two Arrows would do what he could.

  Seventeen

  It seemed to Glory that the Cheyenne had ridden for days through the cold weather as they crossed into Nebraska and kept moving. They were running short on food and horses were worn-out and faltering under the relentless pace. People died in spite of everything the women could do. Sometimes, a stubborn old one decided she was holding the people back and sat down along the trail, awaiting the inevitable, despite the others’ cries and protests.

  If there was one thing about the October cold that was good, it was that the snow covered their tracks and discouraged soldiers from coming after them. The Cheyenne crossed two more railroads, holding their breaths, expecting trainloads of soldiers to appear out of the chill, their brass buttons gleaming. So far, they had seen no soldiers in the bleak sand hills. Two Arrows recognized the terrain and brightened, saying they were in northwestern Nebraska and soon, would be safe in their own country.

  The chiefs h
ad called a halt for the day. Glory had built a snug little windbreak and lit a tiny fire to cook the rabbit Two Arrows had shot. She smiled now as he joined her. “Good news?”

  He sat down on the blanket cross-legged. “Perhaps.”

  She took a look at his frowning face. “It is not good news, you only try to spare me from worry.”

  He sighed. “Little Wolf and Dull Knife have had another disagreement at council just now. Little Wolf thinks we should veer off and lose ourselves in the wilderness; the farther north, the better.”

  “And Dull Knife?” She didn’t care much where they went, as long as she was not separated from her lover.

  “He wants to take us to the Red Cloud reservation of our friends, the Lakota. He thinks that since the Lakota are allowed to stay there, once we get there, we will be allowed to stay, too.”

  She tore off a bit of the roasted rabbit and held it out to him. He caught her wrist playfully, nibbled the meat until he had eaten it, began to kiss the juice off her fingers. “I have more meat,” she said.

  “I don’t want more meat, I want you.” He began to kiss his way up her arm.

  “Aren’t the people almost ready to move out again?” She didn’t want hurried lovemaking.

  “No, because the two chiefs are still arguing.” He was sucking her fingers in a very sensual manner.

  “What do you think?”

  “About what?” He continued to suck her fingers, pulling him against her so he could put his other hand down the front of her dress and stroke her breasts.

  “About what? About whether they will split up and which way we will go.”

  “Proud One, I have offered an opinion; we have all offered our opinions.” Two Arrows was abruptly serious. “There are pros and cons for both destinations, and no one knows who is right. Some say splitting up would be a good thing; the army would have to chase two groups then.”

  The army. She didn’t want to think about the army. “We have seen no soldiers for a long time.”

  “They are out there somewhere and when they find us ...” His voice trailed off, and he stared into the fire.