by Avery, Joan
“Your offer is very generous, Piah, but she is not mine to sell.”
“Who sells her?”
“White women are not sold as wives. They choose their husbands for themselves.”
“Let the sun-haired one choose then. We will race tomorrow and she will choose.”
“I am honored that you wish to race, but she cannot be forced to choose.”
Piah nodded. Stephen suspected Piah was confident that no woman could refuse him after watching him race.
Ouray studied the two men. “We will have a race. It will bring happiness to my people. The sadness will be on us soon enough.”
“Tomorrow we will race and Katherine Barker will decide.” The chief spoke in English and raised his hand in dismissal. Everyone but Chipeta rose.
…
Kate sat a moment longer than the rest, puzzled by the chief’s words. What was she to decide?
Otto took her arm and helped her to rise. “I hope you do not mind, my dear Katherine, but I will be joining you for the night in your tepee.”
They walked in silence until they reached the tepee. A small fire had been started to warm the structure. It gave a soft glow to the translucent elk-skin walls. The air was crisp and clear. Overhead thousands of stars lay strewn across the heavens. How long before trains belching smoke would ply this pristine wilderness? How long before the white man destroyed these people and their home?
She stooped low and entered the tepee. Buffalo robes had been spread on the ground. Others had been placed as covers for sleeping. Her belongings had been fetched and placed in the tepee as well. She walked over to the satchel and retrieved her hairbrush. Sinking down in exhaustion, she combed her tangled hair.
The two men settled onto skins on the far side of the fire.
“What did Ouray mean when he said tomorrow I would decide?”
Otto cleared his throat and smiled but said nothing.
“Stephen?”
Stephen ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit that meant he was keeping something from her. “It’s nothing.”
“What did he mean, tomorrow we will race and then I would decide? Tell me.”
“Piah has challenged me to a horse race tomorrow.”
“A horse race?”
“Yes,” he said, “a horse race. I have explained to you before that it is a passion with the Utes. Their horses are their pride. To race them brings the Utes great joy. It will be an important event, a wonderful celebration. There will be much betting. A Ute man has been known to bet all his belongings during the excitement of the race.”
“But why has he challenged you? You have only the one horse and nothing else he could want.”
“That is not exactly the case.” Otto smiled, apparently greatly amused by what was going on.
“Well, what is it that you have that he wants? Or are you two going to continue to smirk and not give me the courtesy of an answer?”
“He wants you, Kate,” Stephen said with an irritating smile on his face.
“And you told him he could have me if he won me fair and square?” She fired her hairbrush across at Stephen, catching him in the shoulder.
“No, I told him white men don’t sell their women.”
“So I am your woman to sell?” she shouted back at him.
“Katherine, calm yourself,” Otto said. “Stephen did tell him that white women choose their husbands. This is what drove Piah to challenge Stephen. Piah believes that by beating Stephen in a horse race, you will choose him. You should be honored.” Otto’s broad grin belied his last words.
“So you have left it to me to tell him I do not want him. No doubt that will improve our relations with the Ute.”
She threw herself down in a pique on the buffalo robe, pulling the second one up over her ears.
Damn them, damn them both.
…
The camp was a moving mass of excitement. Kate had awoken late. Her sleep had been deep and sound. Not even the hubbub outside had disturbed her. Both Stephen and Otto were gone when she finally arose. She pushed open the entrance flap of the tepee to find a beehive of activity.
Happy sounds carried through the air like the sweet warble of a bird. A sudden sadness engulfed her. These people did not deserve the white man’s hatred. This was what Stephen and Otto had tried to tell her. Standing here amidst them, it was so much easier to understand.
She wandered in the general direction that most of the tribe was moving.
“Good morning.” Otto’s smiling, bearded face greeted her as she passed the last tepee. He was with Chipeta.
“Good morning, Otto.”
“I hope you slept well?” he asked kindly.
“I’m afraid I slept far too long.”
“No, not at all. The excitement will not begin until later this afternoon.”
“It appears to have started already.” A long stretch of maybe three hundred yards was being cleaned of dead brush and large rocks. “What are they doing?”
“Ah, they are preparing the race course, my dear.”
“I see.” Kate smiled at Chipeta. “Good morning, Chipeta.”
The woman smiled and nodded a greeting in return.
Chipeta had dressed finely for the occasion. Her dress was made of doe skin, creamy and soft. Long fringe hung from the three-quarter sleeves and the hem where it trailed behind her. The bodice had been beaded elaborately in designs that suggested to Kate birds and the sun. Kate couldn’t help herself—she reached out and touched the garment, which was as soft as a baby’s cheek. “You must tell her, Otto, how much I admire her dress. It is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.”
When she looked up, Otto was shaking his head in warning. And Chipeta’s smile was gone.
“What is it? Should I not have touched it?”
“It is considered impolite to admire another’s possessions.”
Kate jerked her hand back. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Please, I meant no offense,” she said to Chipeta.
Then she questioned her friend, “Why is it rude, Otto?”
“The Utes share all they have: the game the braves kill, the nuts and berries the women collect. The sharing of food and supplies is taken for granted. They own but a few material possessions, such as their clothes and their horses. If one asks for or admires another’s possession, the polite thing to do is to give it to the admirer.”
“Oh, no.” Kate shook her head and turned back to Chipeta. “I do not want her to think that she must give it to me.”
“I will explain that to her, but I fear it may already be too late.”
Chipeta’s intelligent eyes followed the exchange in English very carefully, as if seeking a solution to the problem. When Kate and Otto had finished speaking, she reached over and touched the sleeve of Kate’s wool gabardine dress.
A soft smile touched her lips as she spoke in Ute. Kate looked to Otto for the meaning of her words.
“She says to tell you how lovely your dress is.”
Kate was deeply touched. The woman had risked being considered rude to make her guest comfortable.
“Thank you.” She looked at the woman, whose soft doe eyes took in everything.
“Otto, have you seen Stephen?”
“I believe he is at the ramudas checking the horses. Ouray has kindly offered him the choice of one of his ponies for the race. The chief wishes the race to be a fair one.”
“Thank you.”
She smiled again at Chipeta before heading toward the corrals.
Chapter Twenty-one
“Well?” Otto raised an eyebrow at Kate.
Kate laughed. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s wonderful.”
A cheer went up as the victorious brave pulled his horse up and cantered back along the race track to the starting line. Old men argued good-naturedly as the betting sticks changed hands. Several young women eyed the winner with a certain universal look that told Kate that future relationships were being built.
She had not realized there would be more than one heat. She had assumed the matter would be a smaller affair with just Piah and Stephen competing, but she had learned that the afternoon was to be devoted to a whole series of races, each one more frenetic than the last.
Otto laughed. “I hope no one gets carried away. I’ve seen a brave end up throwing in his wife in a frenzy of betting.”
“Surely you’re joking.”
“No, my dear, I’m not joking.”
“But...” Kate did not know what to say.
Otto called her attention back to the race track. “It looks like we’re ready for another heat.” After several heats, she was still astonished by the skill of the riders. The course was about three hundred yards long. Except for a few of the larger impediments that had been removed, it was as Mother Nature had sculpted it. Rough and uneven, it would challenge the best riders. To make matters even more interesting, the braves rode bareback without even the crude grass-filled bags that were normally used as saddles. They used only a braided leather rope to control their high-spirited animals.
“I think the horses enjoy it as much as the people,” she observed.
“I believe you are right.”
A lance was dropped and the two braves were off, kicking and yelling at their ponies the entire length of the track. The crowd swelled with noise. A triumphant whoop rose up from the winning bettors as the horses crossed the finish line. As it died down, the low grumbling of the losers could be heard.
“What are the sticks that they exchange?”
“Ah, they are gambling sticks. The sticks are used like poker chips. When they are done, the sticks are exchanged for items among the losers’ personal possessions.”
She smiled and closed her eyes. The sun kissed her face. The temperature was unusually warm and it left her feeling optimistic for the first time in a long time.
Several more heats were run in the afternoon, and she found herself caught up in the excitement. Near the end, a few of the heats involved the winners of previous races. Now there was a certain expectation in the air. Her heart beat faster as the betting activity increased.
Then she saw Piah. He had stripped to the waist in the warmth of the afternoon. A quiet had fallen over those who lined either side of the track. Slowly, Piah kneed his horse forward down the center of the race track. The horse pulled at the rough bridle, anxious to run, sensing the tension in the air. The feathers and fur in Piah’s hair moved sinuously as he trotted toward the starting line. His horse was all muscle encased in a thin layer of horseflesh. She could hear murmurs of appreciation among the crowd. As he came abreast of her, he guided his animal toward the sidelines. It took all of her nerve not to take a step back. It was clear to everyone that she was the reason Piah had turned.
Piah reined in the pony six feet or so in front of her. Otto translated his speech.
“You will see now how skilled a warrior I am. You will see how good my ponies are. Then you will choose to belong to Piah.”
He pulled his pony’s rope until it reared up. When its front hoofs touched the ground, he galloped to the starting line.
Piah’s horse pawed at the dirt while he waited. Everyone waited.
Then a murmur arose. She anxiously searched the length of the track. There was no sign of Stephen, but the murmur increased in intensity. Those standing to her left moved away whispering. She turned in that direction.
Stephen sat atop a black pony. He too had stripped off his shirt. The planes of his chest, tanned and deeply muscled, rippled with power as he patted the pony’s neck.
He wore no shoes, only his black denim pants and a belt with a large silver buckle that drew Kate’s attention to the fine trail of dark hair that ran into his pants. She shivered. It wasn’t the race that caused her body to ripple with anticipation. She admired his long elegant hands as he smoothed the pony’s dark hair. Hands that had brought her soothing pleasure and unbearable delight.
He smiled at her. “Are you going to wish me luck?”
“I’m sorry...?” She had let her memories of him distract her.
“Luck. Are you going to wish me luck? Or perhaps you’ve changed your mind and Piah is looking better to you.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “No, I think regardless of who wins, I’ll take my chances choosing my own husband without the benefit of a horse race.”
“As you wish, but you may regret your decision.” Without warning, he bent down and kissed her. “For luck,” he called out as he kneed his horse into a gallop and rode out onto the course.
A commotion arose among the crowd. She was vaguely aware that many gambling sticks were changing hands. Arguments and shouts occasionally cut through the din.
She heard little of it. She was only aware of his back. In the harsh light of day, every lash mark, every welt looked angry and painful. She remembered trailing kisses along the raised red rivers of pain.
And she remembered every day of last month she had spent with this man. She remembered his tenderness with her, with Andy. She remembered the love and loyalty of his friends.
She did not need a race to decide. She had already chosen.
The crowd had quieted. All eyes were on Ouray who waited on the far side of the racetrack, lance in hand. He wore elk-skin leggings with triangular beading and a heavily beaded tunic. He also wore a full-feathered headdress for the celebration. He walked forward and spoke with the two men, then returned to the sidelines and lifted the lance.
A silence followed, so deafening it left her with only her own shallow breaths echoing in her ears.
Ouray lowered the lance.
A cheer arose.
Piah and Stephen kneed their horses.
She covered her mouth with her hand, afraid that she would scream, and then she did.
“Go! Go, Stephen!”
She could not blink for fear she’d miss something.
Piah’s horse leaped over the line in full stride. He screamed as his heels kicked into the soft horseflesh. He took the lead.
Stephen’s horse hesitated then found its stride. They were nose to rump, barely a length apart.
Stephen crouched low over his dark pony. He appeared to be speaking to the animal but his words were lost in the roar of the crowd.
They were nearing the halfway mark and Stephen’s pony had gained half a length. Piah looked over to see Stephen almost abreast and kicked his horse harder.
She had her hands over her mouth again. She willed her spirit into the race. Every inch of her being—body, mind, and soul—with Stephen. Why the race mattered so much, she would have been at a loss to say, but it was true. Their destinies were linked, eternally and irrevocably.
Both men hit a rough stretch of the track, and the horses fought not to break stride. Piah struck his horse with the end of the leather-braided rope and once more kicked the horse’s flanks.
Stephen came abreast of Piah. The two men glanced at each other and then lunged for the finish line less than a hundred feet away. The horses’ nostrils flared with exertion. They were reaching the limits of their endurance but their pounding hoofs did not slow. How long could they keep up the pace? This race was clearly faster than any of the earlier heats. The horses gasped for breath as they approached the last few yards nose to nose.
Piah kicked his horse again and the animal burst ahead, then lost strength. Stephen regained the inches he had lost and apparently willed the horse to greater speed. The dark pony moved ahead an inch and then two. That was all it took.
The crowd screamed even louder. The clamor was deafening. Her body shook with emotion. The celebration at the finish line was a watery blur.
“I think my heart can start beating again, what about yours, my dear?” But then Otto was silenced by the look on Kate’s face. She didn’t care anymore. She couldn’t hide her feelings any longer, to herself or to anyone.
Otto excused himself and walked toward Chief Ouray. She found herself face to face with Chipeta. The chief’s wife wore
an elk-skin cape heavily beaded with elk teeth and porcupine quills over her dress. The effect was extraordinary and quite stunning. She held in her hands a second garment also of made of soft skin.
Kate waited, uncertain of what was expected of her. Where was Otto? Where was Stephen? Chipeta indicated that Katherine was to don the soft garment. Afraid to once more affront the woman, she hurried into the tepee. Stripping off her heavy dress and underthings, she slid the soft garment over her bare skin. The feeling was more sensual than she had anticipated. Barefoot, she left the lodge once more.
She was surprised to see Ouray waiting for her. The whole camp was massed behind him in anticipation.
Ouray spoke in English. “You are welcome among the people of the shining mountains, Katherine Barker. It is for you and Stephen Worth that we celebrate tonight. I have given him an eagle feather to honor him for his victory.”
She didn’t understand. Why would they celebrate for them both? It was Stephen who had won the race. She scoured the dark friendly faces. Where was he?
Ouray quite formally stepped aside.
Stephen was there.
Naked. Or nearly so.
A loincloth barely covered his manhood. His body was a living canvas. It had been covered in yellow clay and intricate designs had been scratched into the yellow. The bands and scrolls only served to accentuate every nuance of his body from his broad shoulders to his heavily muscled thighs and calves. He wore a chest covering of porcupine quills much like Piah had before the race. An eagle feather had been braided into the side of his hair. It brushed his shoulder.
The effect was startling.
More than startling.
Ouray motioned to Stephen, who came forward to stand beside her. She could feel him, his heat, his heart, his mind. He was there for her as never before.
She reached out and his hand folded around hers. Her heart pounded. She wanted to be alone with him, not here before these people. It was selfish of her, but it was the truth. She wanted to explore with her hands and eyes every inch of him and have him do the same with her. It defied reason. It defied convention. But, it seemed good and natural and right.
